The Hands of Fate
by tatooineknights
Summary: A world is big but the galaxy bigger. Luke faces Darth Vader on Bespin and learns the ultimate truth of his parentage - now he must face them as events transpire and shift. Circumstances change. People change. Destiny, however, remains the same.
1. There Was Once an Innocent Boy

"You are beaten."

Luke was thrown to the ground by the weight of Darth Vader's blade, his hip sharply cutting into an elevated step on the catwalk. The words ignited a fear within the youth as he lay dumbly on the ground, suddenly realizing the raw strength of his opponent. He could only shake in horror as the red blade inched dangerously close to his skin, closer and closer with every step, until the fire of the blade heated the skin on his face. He couldn't move but he could feel the stray whiskers on his jaw slowly burn as the core radiated against the smooth pores.

While he own fear shook him into blinded submission, the weakened Jedi used whatever drive left in his being to scoot back further and further from his impending doom until he was practically lying completely on his back, Vader's blade looming over the entirety of his body. Fire singed the outer cloth of his fatigues, his body glistening underneath in horrific sweat; he continued crawling until his back jagged the corner of a step. He couldn't move back further – it was either surrender his morality or end his mortality. And for the first time in this battle, Luke wasn't sure what the right choice was. He couldn't give into the twisting and hateful dark side – but was he ready to give up his own life instead?

This was the man that had taken so much, murdered so many, the destroyer of millions - the angel of death that threatened the entire galaxy. This was the symbol of evil personified to young Skywalker and yet here he was; defenseless and beaten. Bones creaked and muscles sprang as he futilely tried to advance back further. The lightsaber was all he could stare at; that blade was so close to his soul, ready to pierce at any instant. The running blood that trickled down his nose quickly formed to a crust as Vader continued. Luke looked to the masked man and then to the blade, nodding in blank acceptance, knowing full well that this very weapon could be the one that spilled his last blood and fried it into oblivion. If he was going to die, he would have to give Darth Vader hell.

"It is useless to resist; don't let yourself be destroyed as Obi-Wan did." _As Obi-Wan did -_ his mind left his body as his physical being continued to fight, controlled by both blind rage and powers beyond his control. The fire had been replenished in his soul as Luke Skywalker threw his blade into the air, directly entangling it into the crimson hue of his opponent, striking forward with an intensity he had never felt before.

He could barely feel the maddening red of his face, the blood in his cheeks and forehead close to burst, as he instinctively twisted to the side and narrowly dodged Darth Vader's swipe. The hurt came rushing back, lingering abandonment and resentment returned to his will, reminding him of yet another reason why he stood here. Why he was facing a man Luke knew now he would never beat. He remembered standing there in the hanger of the Death Star – the red blade slicing into the deteriorating robe. He could hear his own cry piercing back and reliving the old memory: his uncontrollable anger, his sudden bloodlust, a second that snapped him out of reality and into someone bent on revenge. He wanted justice - no. he wanted murder.

The two were locked in combat. Luke was in a realm he has never experienced, his arms moving almost automatically in blind anger, preparing an onslaught against the Dark Lord. He stabbed forward, lunging to meet the blade, swiping back left and right. Vader had _no right_ to say that name. He was determined to make his one strike – his one victory in a battle marred with failure. He gives in. He detects slowness on Vader's part and brings his blade down across his shoulder, sparks soaring into the air and shooting out into the abyss.

The roar of Darth Vader filled the chamber, the massive husk quickly raising his arm into the air and swiping. Despite this one congratulatory effort, Luke knew he was soon defeated; though his soul was raised anew, his body began to slow and his movements depressed. The wrath that fueled and gave life to his motions soon slipped away as fear seeped back in to the tiny frame of a fledgling man. "You can do this, Luke," the young Jedi scampered back as he regained control of himself, narrowly avoiding a horizontal slice that would have cut him in two. An overlooking panel was sliced in two instead. He tried to distance himself even further but soon became aware of his own grim fate – the overlooking catwalk was heading towards an abrupt end.

Luke turned around and faced his opponent, inching backwards, noting the charred remains of the bisected instrument panel that took that last hit for him, electrical smoke dancing in between the two warriors. Luke struggled to ward off Vader's ferocious attack, barely able to defend himself as fatigue continued to crush his own weight. He let go of his saber with his left hand and grasped the rail as he forced himself back as far as he could go. "Hold on," Luke whimpered against gritted teeth, refocusing his efforts on standing still and firm on the gantry.

Vader hurled his blade out and tangled Luke's blade with his own, twisting his wrist and lightsaber in circles. "I m-must try," he whispered in his head as his vision began to glaze over. In that very instant, the gushing winds below brought up the severed half of the dismantled panel into the air, distracting Luke from the Dark Lord for just one second; a second that Vader was quick to use to his own advantage. As he stopped directing Luke's lightsaber, Darth Vader slashed with the back of his lightsaber into the wrist of the young Skywalker.

His vision was suddenly blinded by white; he could feel his vocal chords being torn to shreds as he screamed aloud for a few harrowing seconds. Luke's eyes were blistered with tears but he managed to open them up long enough to take a look at where the pain was coming from: his hand – now arcing away from his wrist and flying downward to the shaft below. He could only stare at his stump in horror, his eyes wide as a flame flickered out of his sleeve. Luke screamed as he grasped the remains of his arm and pulled the sleeve over his stump, jamming it with blistering tears in a desperate attempt to fight the pain. He fell to his knees. His body was shaking in defeat along the slim catwalk, forcing him to let go of his arm and grip the railing again.

"My hand," Luke whimpered in disbelief, cradling his arm as the fierce roar settled into a dull throb. "My hand," he cried out again, the slow realization of just what he had lost coming to him. Not just his hand – the lightsaber. He lost he weapon that gave him the courage to openly call himself a Jedi, the only remaining tie he had to his father, Anakin Skywalker. Luke nursed his stump to his breast, pressing down tightly against his armpit, trying to draw out as much distance as he could muster against the demon that bested and maimed him.

"There is no escape," Vader hissed at the youth, "don't make me destroy you."

He stood still in victory as Luke tried his hardest to get away from the monster of his dreams. His guts were churning and swimming out of place, begging for Luke to spill them. Everything was.. spinning.. he tried to focus harder as he let go with his remaining hand, dangling himself over an endless abyss, desperately reaching to the abrupt end of the walkway. That was the only hope left. It was the only distance left before he'd get consumed by the dark side.

"Luke, you do not yet realize your importance," Darth Vader continued as Luke backed further away. "You've only begun to discover your power; join me and I can complete your training. With our combined strength, we can end this destructive conflict and bring order to the galaxy." His words entered one ear and out the other – it didn't make sense. Nothing made sense. Everything was unreal, out of focus, turning and twisting into a dizzy universe that Luke struggled to understand. All he could understand was 'join me.' Even with all the pain, Luke managed to let out a sour laugh as he hooked himself around the central pipe.

"Join you? I'll never join you!"

"If you only knew the power of the dark side," Vader enticed.

Luke looked down to his charred sleeve, now crusted with the slight remains of ash and blood. This was only a taste of the dark side. He'd lose more than just his physical self if he went down that path – he'd join Vader and lose his soul completely.

"Obi-Wan never told you what happened to your father…"

"He told me enough!"

There was that rage again, oh, the fire that burned inside more than any cauterizing swipe. That passion inside the boy was waiting for a chance to explode, waiting to unleash a pain stronger than any lightsaber. Darth Vader _dared_ to throw Obi-Wan's death in his face. He _dared_ to throw his father's memory and spit it at him, minutes after taking the one thing he had of him.

"He told me you killed him," Luke spat back, staring straight into that mask.

"No, Luke. I am your father."

Luke stood still. His hood shook against the current of the wind, his hair rocking against his skin, as his face remained completely still. His eyes tighten. He looks to Darth Vader and then to the bowels of Bespin beneath him, confused, distorted by the very claim. He suddenly began to feel extremely ill, the stomach begging to wretch, his bloodshot eyes becoming clouded with heavy tears.

"Father", _Obi-Wan described his father as a great warrior, a strong general, and a good friend; a man that had been slain by the villain known as Darth Vader. He was an upstanding man that people rallied behind and fought for the good of the universe. An unspoken for hero of the Republic._

"No," _Uncle Owen described his father as a navigator on a spice freighter, a man haunted by a great love that he could never sate, a working man; just a simple man that perished due to his own carelessness and recklessness. Someone who had it all and lost it._

"No, that's not true!"

Anakin Skywalker was the man and figure of good that Luke Skywalker had always aspired to become. He had been successfully fed a web of stories about his father, some true, some false, that dared him to attempt the path laid before him. He bared his father's lightsaber for three years, brandishing it in the hopes of feeling a deeper connection to the man, to Anakin.

"That's impossible," Luke whimpered as he fought back the tears that stung his eyes. His lightsaber – his father's lightsaber – was gone. The last attachment he had to the light figure of his dreams had been cruelly severed, tossed away carelessly to the wind. Luke Skywalker looked to the black-garbed figure and choked back a heavy sulk as he came to the horrifying realization: the Sith Lord did not lie.

"No!" Luke cried out with the last remnants of his strained throat, realizing the deception of all the men he had surrounded himself with. The uncle that desperately tried to normalize him, the guardian that spoke ill truths of a man that once was, a teacher that knew far more than he was letting on. His last shred of innocence was now buried with the lightsaber.

"Luke, you can destroy the Emperor. He has foreseen this. It is your destiny. Join me, and together we can rule the galaxy as father and son. Come with me. It is the only way."

These words felt so foreign and distant. The figure before him may have once been his father, he may even be him now, but it was not a destiny Luke was ready to choose. He wasn't ready to give up all the work he had accomplished in the past three years. All the people he had saved, planets that had been freed from the clutches of evil, the friends he had made in the pursuit of goodness. He couldn't throw them away like that. Luke looked down to the bowels beneath him. There had to have been several miles of distance between himself and the collapsing walls below. Suddenly, however, he felt his fear begin to recede. The channel of air that swept around him was whispering to his ear, begging him to let go. There was a choice to be made here: one of giving in and one of letting go. He turned to his opponent - his father - and inched back.

With sudden ease, Luke Skywalker let go of his grip of the panel and let himself be carried by the current.

His body danced amongst the waves of air, twisting and rocking against the current, falling down into an opening into the unknown world that surrounded the city. Luke had his eyes closed shut as he continued to fall, choosing to reject the words of Darth Vader and succumb to the destiny that fate had in store.

His father.

Luke tightened his eyes as he felt his physical self flail, oxygen slipping away as his mind slowly began to drip away into unconsciousness. He wanted to think, understand. His body was being thrashed about and battered yet his mind refused to waver. There was a perfect balance of certainty and uncertainty raging a war within his mind. The physical pain he was sustaining was nothing compared to the endless torment that wrestled with the soul.

Rolling and curving against the edges of the cramped pathway, Luke Skywalker slowly began to feel his momentum shift, moving almost to a crawl. His head was spinning and he felt like his limbs were violently shaking. Everything was so cold and distant. He picked himself up from the ground, sweat drizzling down from his hair and into his face, exhausted and beaten – and yet alive.

The wounded Jedi pulled up the sleeve of his right jacket to take a glance at his injury. Though it throbbed, he was surprised – and frightened – at how little it hurt him now. Where once his hand had been, a hand hardened through years of manual work that held the prize of his father, was now a precise cut of nothingness. He sat himself completely up and sighed in sadness.

Just as Luke sat upright, the floor beneath him caved in, thrusting him downward through another channel and outward into an opening that seemed to suck anything with great force. The youth was shot out of the channel and into the vast atmosphere of Bespin. Thinking quickly, he used the force of the air to propel himself downward into a vane, wrapping his legs around the base tight as his body flew hard into it. The air left his gut as his upper body reacted to the blow, the top half of his self spilling into the depths below.

Luke could have sworn he saw something spinning down miles below him – something that made his stomach churn even further – and it continued to fall until it became a speck. His eyes widened and he turned himself back to the pipe he precariously held with his legs, heaving himself upward. There was only so much he could use and only so little his body was willing to do. Wind stung as it smacked the youth left and right, a torrent of energy tugging and pulling at every inch, yearning for that moment where he loses resistance.

He closed his eyes after he let out a choked sob. The champion of the Rebel Alliance, Luke Skywalker, had finally lost; he couldn't even bare to process that thought, that he had chosen death over life and death was ever so approaching with every minute. His fractured left hand gave him pain with every second and could only sustain its hold for so long and his right hand was..

Luke adamantly shook his head in horror, as burning pain erupted into the stump where his right hand should have been. One second it had been there grasping his weapon and the next, replaced by a smoky haze and boiled blood. Tossed away like refuge.

"Ben," Luke whispered into the air, closing his eyes tight. The betrayal stung but Obi-Wan had always been there for him in the past. He needed him now. He deserved it after being lulled into this trap. If they had only been honest with him all along..

"Ben, please."

But that would be wrong. Obi-Wan and Yoda did not ask for him to go against his.. father. They begged for him to stay, to finish his training. He defied their wishes. Swooped up in his own arrogance and delusions of grandeur, Luke brought himself directly into this catastrophe. He had to go through it alone.

Luke looked above him for anything to grab onto. He noted the grill that he fell out of was still open. The Jedi Knight hoisted himself up and grabbed it with his remaining hand. The pressure of his weight caused the grill to stir, drawing itself back up and shutting out Skywalker from Cloud City for good.

There was little left to choose from now. He could either attempt to climb his way out with only one hand or sit until his untimely demise; Luke chose the former. All of his strength was slowly leaving him as his body gave way to shock but Luke was willing to make one last attempt before letting go. He shimmied his way up the pipe and the gripped the side of a panel for a few solid seconds before his legs gave in, dropping his upper half underneath his bottom.

"Ben, please, hear me."

Silence. There was a dull roar of engines flying against the wind, ever so out in the distance, on their way directly toward him. They were coming for him. His father was coming for him. Beneath him was the endless cycle of gas that pressurized and consumed. It was calling for him, pleading for him to dive into it's deadly stream, waiting for him to lose his self and plunge into the abyss of death.

Luke reflected on himself prior to meeting Yoda. Adventure was his escape. It was his escape from the cruel world around him; the cruel world that had swallowed up his parents, his aunt and uncle, his friends. All he wanted was to be a hero.. to be what he couldn't have been in the past. He wanted to singlehandedly end the Empire. He wanted to be written down in history.. he wanted.. only.. now, he realized, that what he wanted and the reality he had to face to get there was an entirely new obstacle. It began when he saw Darth Vader at Dagobah.

Fear had clouded his judgment. He ignored Yoda. He ignored Ben. He ignored the capabilities that he knew his friends possessed. He wanted to face Vader – to prove himself. He wanted to prove his power; for himself, for Ben, for Leia. But his fear blinded him to his own arrogance. Now? His skills that he had thought were impressive, were feeble. His lightsaber that had given him a sense of worth and power, now lay in a tunnel grasped in a severed hand. His life had been teeming and filled with promise, now waiting to succumb to certain death. He threw it all away for naught.

But he couldn't give in - he had to keep trying.

"Leia."

Luke reached out to the woman, feeling her escape. He longed to be held in her embrace, hearing her attempts to soothe, safe in a place far away. He didn't know if she could hear him or not. She was his closest friend, the one he understood the most, the one that started him out on this adventure. The Force lead him to her - maybe it would lead her back to him. It was a last minute chance with little hope that Luke was quickly running out of.

TIE fighters began to swarm the distance between Cloud City and Skywalker. There more ships here than Luke had seen in the space battle on Hoth. They were drifting slowly towards him, steady, each opening up a top emergency hatch. The ships were there to capture him, to take him back to the Empire. Luke cursed under his breath as they began to approach.

Out of the corner of his eye, Luke could see the vague shape of the Millennium Falcon in the distance. It was so close yet so far. He could sense the worry of Leia Organa on the vessel, wanting him to be saved. He wanted to be saved, too. But Luke knew he had run out of time. There was no way the ship could make it to him without taking heavy damage and risking destruction against all these ships.

He closed his eyes and begged for Leia to turn around, to leave, travel far and out of the clutches of the Empire. Go anywhere, any direction, north, south, east, west. Anywhere that wasn't here and that was safe. It was too late for him. The ship and all his friends would be sitting ducks in their attempt to rescue him if they carried on. He had gotten what he wanted – his friends safe. That's all that mattered. Please, Leia.

 _Luke._

A voice spoke to him from within – the Force. He didn't understand it fully nor did he know who it came from. He had to let go of the pipe. Luke knew he wouldn't be able to hold out any further. The muscles in his legs were collapsing and his body lacked any energy to sustain his movements. This may be the end.

 _Let go._

Luke nodded and closed his eyes, easing his legs from the weathervane, allowing himself to fall down into the murky depths of Bespin. Luke's thighs let go simultaneously from the weather-vane, his body slipping down into the winds. He was greeted with blackness as he began to fall, his arms and legs flailing against the wind, ready to meet his maker. They seemed to wrap themselves around him, beckoning him, wanting him. He felt his boots slide off above himself as he spun round and round and round in random directions. He wasn't sure where up and down where anymore. All he could think of what was next.

Suddenly, the wind slowed. The spinning stopped. He seemed to be.. simply floating. His eyes still slammed shut, Luke assumed that this was his end. He was floating.. down? Or was it up? Regardless, he let the force guide him to his fate.. and then the slamming winds were being broken up by a mechanical wiring. He opened his eyes in confusion, wondering what was coming his way. A shuttle flew to his right, its door opening with mechanical whining. Luke let out a sob in relief before collapsing into exhaustion.

Then there was a gentle thud; a sharp angle hit into his back as he fell into something. He opened his eyes. His body was squished into a tiny corner, surrounded by electronic paneling and metallic sheen. A man sat before him, his back turned away, his arms slowly rocking back and forth.

The fear returned.

"Lord Vader, we have Skywalker. I'll pilot him directly to your shuttle."


	2. The Iron Strength of a Princess

Leia Organa had been silent the entire flight back from Bespin. The stars were dancing off in the distance, their light dimmed against the shadow of the window. They were constantly speaking and plain for the galaxy to see but barely ever understood. There was a pain she felt, watching some flash and blink as others stayed constant and true. She looked past those stares and instead into her own reflection, tracing the angered lines in her skin, trying to figure out what brought her to this path. She shouldn't have survived. Leia should have been with her parents, her friends, her people in their dying moments. She should have been executed by imperial decree on the Death Star. But here she was: the princess of a destroyed planet and a symbol of hope against the tyranny of the Empire.

She had surpassed her own limits. Inside the politician, there was a budding strategist that understood the dual consequences and thrill of battle. The flame of leadership rose to its head against the most trying moments of her life. And, indeed, these were not the events she expected of her life.

In some ways, Leia enjoyed war. Not the gruesome parts of it – man and woman torn to bits, the loss of life from more friends, the financial stress of both wins and losses – but others sated an appetite that she craved. They gave her an opportunity to express the rage and frustration that she kept bottled up inside and never dared to open in public. They gave her a common enemy to fight against.

If there was one enemy that Leia Organa was certain she hated the most, it would be Darth Vader.

The man had been around since she could remember. He didn't have a major public role for most of her life but she could remember the warrior that followed Emperor Palpatine like a dog, always on his leash, only willing to bite and bark when he had been left to himself; always hidden in the shadows.

Vader might not have made the order to destroy Alderaan but he was just as guilty all the same. She remembered the inhuman grip on her shoulder as she was forced to watch everything she loved be ripped to pieces in an instant. She remembered the calm and empty breathing filling her deafening ears as she let out her final cry. The man reveled in her pain.

Not three years after that, he took Han Solo from her.

Leia bit her lip and paused. Her head was still spinning after the events that took place. She tried all this time to not think about it but there it all was again, swimming back and eating away the insides of her brain. She remembered his snarky grin, that know-it-all arrogant grin, that just made her fume. The freedom of his walk dazzled her and sometimes even influenced her to distance from her own beaten path. His final words were whispering to her ear..

She loved him.

Damn it, she was furious. Leia continued to follow asteroids and stars with her eyes, gazing emptily into the vast universe that contained hundreds of trillions of individuals (if not more). She thought of those souls, pondering and weighing her personal struggles with the fate of the everyday citizen. The cruel fate of authoritarian power controlling the livelihood of so many felt so distant at this second; for this moment, this very moment, she'd rather be in the arms of a certain smuggler. His smell, his touch, it lingered in the air of the cockpit… but she couldn't. Now was not the time. Those seconds, the moments, that was all they could be.

The Princess felt so stupid as she looked back at the past three years and wondered just how much she had wasted away. There could have been more times, more kisses. Leia remembered the heat of his body against hers and noted just how suddenly cold it had become. Maybe they wouldn't last. But those intimate moments she shared were some of the greatest she had ever experienced.

Was he alive? Han had to be, she repeated to herself in her head, bound and determined to save him. The smuggler had told her many tales about Jabba the Hutt and the idea of him being hung up in his palace like – like some kind of decoration infuriated her. She would save him. After all, she owed it to him. He saved her from death not too long ago. There was hope.

And then there was Luke.

Luke Skywalker was the boy that radiated goodness. Sure, he was a twenty-three year old man now and an accomplished pilot, but he'd always be that naïve farmboy from Tatooine that was on the search for something more. Luke was never content with the latest adventure – it had to be more.

She felt a bit silly (and guilty) for kissing him on Hoth, the last time she saw him. It truthfully wasn't meant to be anything more than to get a rise out of Han. Unlike the mutual and biting banter between her and Han, the dynamic of this relationship was a bit more one sided on Luke's part. Luke was so awkward in matters like that that she wondered if he'd ever had someone romantically in his life before. Not that she had much experience in that department herself. She wanted to apologize to him. Leia just wanted the boy that was like a little brother by her side.

There was less hope with Luke. His voice spoke to her head, pleading first to rescue him and then secondly to leave him behind, sounding so defeated and torn. It was miraculous – feeling the Force come to life. It was almost as if a whole new section of her being was awakened.

The Princess wanted to advance on the TIE Fighters regardless but Lando pulled back. Last she saw of Luke Skywalker, he was a tiny speck that fell cleanly into one of the ships. His pain radiated back to her through what must have been the Force, speaking ever so vaguely but feeling entirely in sync.

While he was most assuredly safe for now, his future was undoubtedly in jeopardy while in the clutches of the Empire. The fear of an announcement of his execution terrified her mind.

Blood boiled in her veins as she tried her best to keep her cool against the passions she wished to unleash. The façade of Darth Vader made its way onto the window through the imagination of her mind, slowly covering her face, exposing every enraged vein and every burdened crease. With a closed fist, Leia punched the window and barely felt the pain.

Stars and systems stayed in place but Leia noted her own bitter reflection in the window, the smudge of her hand still evident on the glass. She wasn't the academic that studied day in and day out any longer; nor was she the senator that argued and displayed dominance despite her inferior rank. She had become cold. Her brown eyes were weathered with the pain of someone beyond her years. What had become of her smile? It had eclipsed into a frigid frown, afraid to part and show the world what she had experienced.

She'd lost her father. Her friends, her family, an entire network that she had built throughout her young life on Alderaan. And Alderaan, beautiful, peaceful Alderaan – she stopped herself. The image of her home shattering in front of her eyes as Tarkin and Vader watched in triump; it was the most helpless moment of her life. To watch something so whole and complete be disentigrated into a tiny million pieces messed with the psyche in ways beyond Leia's knowledge. That wound would remain sealed shut and would never be reopened. That was a pain that she would only recognize when the wars and battles had ended. Other wounds, however, were still fresh.

The image of Han Solo's saddened eyes haunted her whenever she closed her eyes for too long. It was such a foolish thing to do – love – at this stage in the game. After all, she knew him all these years, why did she wait until now? Did she always know? Was it always there? His sheepish grin had been ingrained into her mind. It was compromising. It _hurt_. She kept seeing him wherever she went; in the cockpit, in the main chamber, in the various rooms of the Falcon. His presence (or lack of) consumed and rotted away at her constitution. His perfect body had been hardened into metal, carbonite, as his soul rested in hibernation. Leia knew where he was. It sickened her to think of him as some kind of décor for a gangster like Jabba the Hutt but it was calming to know she could rescue him.

"Leia!"

Lando Calrissian ran out of the cockpit and back into the main cabin, eyeing her with worry. She knew she shouldn't be mad with the man – none of this was his fault. But her most basic instincts wanted to throttle him, take out her anger on him. She wouldn't though. Princess Leia Organa, instead, was the master of speaking with an iron sword. For now, she'd bottle these emotions.

"Chewie and I heard something; are you alright?"

"It's fine, Lando, I just – I just really need some time alone."

He looked to her and nodded halfheartedly before turning back to the cockpit. Lando stopped and pressed up against the wall, staying still for a few solid seconds before looking back at Leia.

"I'm sorry, you know."

Those words surprisingly made a pit in her stomach. She looked down to the floor and bit her lip, both incredibly frustrated at the situation at hand and understanding what the man had been through as well. He surely didn't want to give his friend to the Empire. It wasn't anyone's fault.

"Except Vader."

"Leia?" Lando asked, slowly creeping his way back to the woman and placing his arm gently on her back. Part of her wanted to shrug him off but another appreciated the touch, the friendliness of someone who understood. There were still people who cared, people worth fighting for.

"Of course this isn't your fault. It's none of our fault. We didn't have enough of a shield remaining to save Luke – not when we were surrounded like that. We all would have lost. You and I, we both did what we could in the situations we were dealt with."

"This Skywalker kid.. who was he, exactly?"

Luke was the last of the Jedi. Luke was the kindest man she had ever met. Luke was the star pilot that did the impossible and took out the Death Star with only a few seconds to spare. Luke was the closest thing she ever had to a brother and, perhaps, her closest confident.

But she didn't know exactly how to voice all those accomplishments. Leia knew that Lando wanted to shoulder her pain, lift some of the weight off of her shoulders, his eyes wide and open with empathy.

"I, uh, heard on the radio that he was captured alive."

So what she had seen was true. The news was bittersweet to her ears; on one hand, Luke had survived and was living. That renewed a faint glimmer in her hardened soul. But the other part of that news meant that he was likely in the clutches of Vader. The sweet boy was captured by one of the most villainous creatures of all, a man totally consumed by darkness. If he dared to taint that light of purity that rested within Luke..

"We still have hope, Leia. We can rescue them," he said, crouching down a little to look plainly into her face. She understood the sadness in his eyes so well; yet she also understood the resolve in his voice.

"His name was Luke," she finally replied back. "He was one of my closest – maybe even my closest friend."

"Han and Skywalker – Luke. If you want me, Leia, I know the two of us can find a way to rescue them both. The Empire is powerful but so are we. So are you. Han's a fighter, there's no way he's staying like that for long. He was my friend and I betrayed him. I'm sorry."

Leia nodded and gently smiled before turning her face away from his.

"We'll correct our mistakes. We'll save our friends, even if it means I have to take some private measures opposite of what the Alliance wants. My loyalty remains with them, and they need me, but I'll gladly take your help. We can do this, Lando. We just – we just need some time to grieve for now."

"I – Chewie and I, we're here if you need us, Princess. Take as much time as you need."

She heard him turn back and make his way to the cockpit. A budding resolve began to retake some of the bitterness and anger that had been fueling her this past day. There was still hope to be found and Lando suddenly reminded her of that. All was not yet lost.

"Lando?"

"Yes, Leia?"

The Princess walked over to the man and wrapped her arms around him, holding him in a sweet embrace. She knew he was taken aback – and, in truth, part of herself was taken aback by her own actions. But this felt like the right thing to do. There needn't be any conflict between the two of them.

"Thank you."

A burden suddenly felt lifted off of her shoulders. She let go of him and felt warm at the sight of his smile, to which she smiled back. He left to rejoin Chewbacca in the cockpit and she was left by her lonesome. But that wouldn't be for long. She was never alone. There was far too much in her life to give up now.

There were the memories of her mother and father, friends and family lost in the ashes of Alderaan, of the soldiers who lost their lives for the cause, the generals and admirals that went to battle against all odds, the droids that led her on this path, Chewie, Lando, Luke, Han. The time to fight would come soon.

Leia returned her eyes back to the mirror and glared back into her face, studying her reflection. She peered past herself again and waited for the image of that man to return. Slowly, but surely, her face was covered in the black-garbed armor of Darth Vader. The echo of his breathing stayed still inside her head. That man whom had stolen so much from her would get his due.

There was a fire lit within Leia Organa. While she would journey for the safe return of her friends, a dark part of her soul begged for more. Retaliation was imminent. Revenge would be her second goal – and one that she was determined to achieve.

"Darth Vader, I'm coming for you."

In the corner of the window, Leia could have sworn she saw the reflection of objects levitating behind her. A book was levitating over one of the tables, her blaster wobbling in midair, a brown blanket waving awkwardly to her. She quickly turned around to see if her eyes were playing tricks on her and saw those same objects lying limply on the ground, not in their previous burrows and homes, angled awkwardly to the eye. Leia shook her head and walked past them, tucking a stray lock of hair behind her ear before rejoining Chewbacca and Lando in the cockpit.


	3. Ice and Water

Though he remained completely still, Luke Skywalker still felt as if he were tumbling down a long series of channels and pipes. He felt sickly and his eyes were spinning – his head would spin ever further when he attempted to close his eyes. Vibrant flashes of cyan and scarlet clashed underneath his eyelids, sparks dancing in explosion, as he remembered the fight that had just occurred. Fatigue had taken over his physical self and the effects of shock were ever slowly dripping in.

Luke fought to keep his eyes open the best he could. He wanted to be aware of his fate, his destination, everything that surrounded him. Concentrate – feel, let go. Remember the mantra that Yoda taught himself, remember it, Luke. Words escaped his lips but they rang hollow. The Force was there with him, ever distant, yet unable to bow to his commands.

The young rebel closed his eyes fleetingly and extended his arm, begging for the return of his life force. He was greeted with jarring pain as he instinctively reached out with his right, triggering him to open his eyes and be reminded of his maiming.

"Wake up," Luke whimpered, "please, wake up from this nightmare."

Everything was so cold; the blanket that covered his entire body lay damp against his bare skin, the sweat that normally radiated felt as pure ice, his matted hair tattered and frozen. Luke protectively nursed his injured arm (noting that someone clamped a makeshift tourniquet around the wrist) against his breast as he continued to lie on the cot.

Nightmares were the cancer to dreams. They swallowed hope and feasted on despair, crowding themselves around their hosts until they either endured and awoke or lost. Luke remembered the nightmares he would have as a boy – vague dreams of a man, a pilot, zooming through the expanses of space as fighter ships followed him in the distance. The man was hopelessly outmanned and had to rely on his own wit and cunning to survive. He was a handsome man with shoulder-length brown hair, also prone to sudden impulse and reckless endangerment. Sometimes he would live and sometimes he would be destroyed.

Luke imagined this man to be his father. Everything that he had been told to him about his father had created a subconscious image, molded around the fabrications of the stories told. This was a virtuous and good man that followed his duties while occasionally straying off his path. He was a wholesome and powerful individual, smart, too. As a boy, he feared for the safety of this man as he flew against his pursuers, trying new ways to escape and destroy, making paths that weren't readily accessible. Most of the time, the nightmares ended with his destruction. Other times, he could endure the nightmare and see the man survive only to be woken up by the twin suns.

This nightmare was different; it felt very physical and present, teeming and haunting around both the conscious and subconscious. Inside, there was a very dark mass that sought to consume him. He could first hear it's whispers as he made his way to Bespin and now he could begin to see it's shadows. Though it was still small, it was an ever growing beast that hungered for more.

Luke shuddered before hoisting himself up from the cot to a seat. He felt a little livelier now after getting some rest – though he was unaware of just how much time had passed in the meanwhile. The Force surrounded him but it did not continue to penetrate him, its powers in reach but unable to control. He knew he'd be on his own for a little while longer.

He was on an imperial vessel, though not the one that had rescued him from certain death. Rescued? Maybe that was the wrong choice of words – captured? Imprisoned? Luke was painfully unaware of what fate had in store for him. Pulling the blanket back, Luke stood from the cot and began to walk around the room. He felt every colder as he realized that his jacket and had been stripped off of his body, walking around instead in his green undershirt. His belt was missing too.

"I recommend you stay still, sir."

The youth twisted backward to the sudden voice, one that sounded ever familiar. It had a certain robotic passiveness to the tone that allowed Luke to remain calm despite being startled. There was a droid across the room in the opposite direction of the cot, standing firm but motioning to the Jedi plainly.

There was good reason for Luke to have heard that droid's voice before – it was a 2-1B medical droid, much like the one that had nursed him back to health on Hoth. He knew that this particular model was common amongst all walks of life in the galaxy but it was still strange to see it in the hands of the Empire, the enemy. The droid that had worked on him previously was a reassuring and sweet droid.

"I mean you no harm, sir."

"Right," Luke nodded cautiously, casually folding his arms for warmth as he began to approach the droid. The machine studied him curiously as he walked closer, turning it's head side to side. This was a newer model than the droid that Luke worked with on Hoth.

"With all due respect, sir, Lord Vader requested that you stay and rest for the duration of our travel. We managed to use some of the remaining bacta patches to heal some of your injuries but the most grievous will require a full tank. You are likely still in a state of shock."

"You could say that again," Luke huffed under his breath, feeling a twinge of sick humor as he compared his physical shock to the incredulous events that led him here. The boy on Tatooine never would have expected himself to become a hero of the Rebellion, a fledgling Jedi Knight, and the son to one of the most dangerous men in the universe. That last part was still hard to stomach.

The man and the machine stared at each and blinked as a quiet stillness came over the two of them. Luke wasn't sure where he was right now but for the time being – he was safe. With only one hand and a dangerous fever though, he knew there was little chance of escape at this moment.

"Have you – have you heard any news of Princess Leia Organa?"

"My goodness!" The droid exclaimed, raising his voice for the first time since Luke started talking to him. "That Princess is a war criminal and a dangerous one at that. You'd best stay away from her. Last we heard on our frequencies, she managed to escape our trap on Cloud City. We did manage to capture that Skywalker, though we know little of where he is, unfortunately."

He gulped hard as it became obvious the droid did not know that he was currently speaking to Luke Skywalker in the flesh, right here and now, and that he was responsible for saving his life. Luke would leave that revelation for another time. Instead, he did feel some relief knowing that Leia was fine.

"I was just curious. Do you know where we are headed?"

"It's confidential, I'm afraid. One minute I was working the medical bay and helping our men come to from surgery, the next, Lord Vader is grabbing me from behind and taking me on some sort of mission without any kind of briefing. I suppose my superiors must be furious."

Luke turned from the droid and frowned, uncertain and worried about the circumstances. He wondered if the Dark Lord was staying true to his word and really defecting from the Emperor – this didn't seem to be an Imperial sanctioned mission, after all. It all felt so sudden, so impulsive, thrown together at the last minute. Almost as if Vader was creating an off-beat path to the one he was walking on beforehand.

"What about my hand?" He asked somberly. Force, his arm was so incredibly sore. The stump itself didn't seem to hurt that much unless it pressed against something but there this aching chronic thud that kept shooting up his nerves. Luke continued to cross his arms, carefully, afraid it would otherwise fall to dead weight.

"There's little we can do, at the moment. The wound was so precise and sealed, unlike any electrical wound I've seen in the past. You should be thankful it wasn't more serious."

He felt a dark and frustrated chuckle escape his lips. Thankfully, nothing more serious than getting your hand cut off and losing your only weapon happened. Just a small wound to a droid. Sometimes he wished they could be more aware of how ridiculous they sound at times.

"Lord Vader and I applied most of our bacta reserves to deaden any lingering infection or inflamed tissue. You were dangerously close to falling into deep shock from infection but it was made quick work through the bacta. It is spent through now, though. You should be safe for the next day or so but it is imperative that you are put in the tank when possible."

Hearing about the tank reminded him of when he was found on Hoth, his whole body suffering from hypothermia and his face clawed apart by that snow monster. He was in that tank for over an hour as he fell in and out of consciousness, daydreaming of Ben Kenobi and this mysterious world of Dagobah. All of those months seemed like an entire lifetime ago. How time had passed..

"What about a replacement? A prosthetic?"

"The topic did come up but Lord Vader was mostly silent. Maybe if we had the parts but not knowing where we are headed or what we are working with, I'd try to become as comfortable as you can, if I were you."

Luke looked down to his arm and shook his head, nodding sadly as he accepted the challenges he would soon face. He once knew a veteran that used to fight on the frontlines, his arm blown off by a grenade that also took two of his friends lives. He was forcibly retired from action but he remained at the base, instead working on intel, and slowly but surely relearned how to fire his weapon with his non-dominant hand.

He was lucky in that regard. Luke was left handed for most of his life until his friends started teaching him to shoot a rifle. He took to their right-handed ways and learned to fire that way, learned to spar pretend-swords made of sticks with his right, doing everything else with his left. It would take time but Luke wasn't out of the action. There was hope yet if it was never repaired.

The cold came rushing back into his skin, his veins engorged with ice. Everything was starting to lose focus again, growing blurrier and blurrier with every second.

"Sir, I think you better rest, you don't look too well. I trust we are close to our destination."

"I can stay awake… a little while longer," Luke replied faintly, holding himself up against the wall, closing his eyes and biting down on his lip. Nausea built itself up in his head as his stomach danced against his wishes. He wished for it to go away, he wanted to understand, wanted to free himself.

"That won't be necessary," spoke a voice from behind and, through a force stronger than his own, Luke Skywalker found himself slumped against the floor and his eyes rolled back into unconsciousness.

* * *

Darth Vader stood at the entrance of the cabin, his hand raised as he lowered his son into sleep.

"We have arrived," he stated with certainty. "The Empire is very thankful of the services you have offered, droid. Your time with us is growing to a close and your efforts are most appreciated. You'll be back to your base sooner than you may have expected. We still have one final task and we must be quick."

The man looked down at the heap on the floor that was his son, sprawled out across the cold metal, shaking erratically and his breaths becoming shallow and uneven. It wasn't hard to notice the effects of shock beginning to take hold of his son. Darth Vader crouched down to the ground and grabbed his son from behind his back and swooped him in his arms.

"Go out the ship and head straight before making the first left. Ready the tank and I'll ready our prisoner. There is little time for distractions and I have little patience, so leave," Vader hissed at the droid. The machine was quick to move to his orders, leaving the Sith Lord alone with his son.

His _son_.

Vader studied the face of his offspring, delicately pushing back the bangs to take a look at his build. This was the first time he could really examine the boy. It was a strange feeling – holding to a grown man and knowing that this was the living flesh of the life he once had. The life he shared with _her_. Indeed, he could see her influences in his face, the kindness in his smile, the delicateness to his features. He also noted his own, like that little dimple in his chin, which was practically identical to his own.

"Luke."

That name was so right. It was a fitting name for the next child in his line, perfect for what he wanted. Strong and simple. There was so little time in the past – it had never been discussed what names were being considered for his offspring. There was a war. His child was both everything and it was also an entire universe away from the life he led. It was all on _her_ ; the name surely must have come from her.

It was a joyous discovery – a son!

Vader couldn't remember the last time he felt pure joy. The thrills of battle excited and fueled his bones for the past two decades but they never quite gave him that feeling of content. All this time, he'd been on the inside of the fire to ever really feel the beauty of warmth. It was refreshing.

Yet it was also fleeting. That joy stung harder than the flames of Mustafar enveloping his skin or the crushing collapse of his organs. Passion fueled rage, as he had been taught so many years ago. There was much that was stolen from him the past twenty-three years. In his hands lay a life that could have been instead of the wasteless harbinger of death he had become, the slave to a master that spun his own webs of lies. His existence was only driven off of a fuel of apathy and anger.

The treachery of his master he had long suspected but never had the proof needed to act. Here was this boy, this child, that had the potential for greatness. Luke was a man now but there was still time to direct him toward a path of power and prestige. There was time to build this youth into the man that Vader could have become all these years ago. There was time to enact one final plan of revenge.

Luke shook in his arms. Vader sensed the cold stillness of his son in his arms, physical shock still trying to make its claim. He began to head towards the exit of his ship and into his private vessel, one that had been purchased with pure credits under a disguise, a ship that could never be traced back to his name. The Emperor would find out his deceit soon, and likely through the Force, would find his way here. The two wouldn't be safe forever but there was time to teach and build Skywalker.

There was an emptiness to the vessel that Vader had designed purposefully. It was locked in place on the far edges of the galaxy, the comlink and radio busted, the navigation and engine stripped as soon as he found the best hiding place. Anyone that passed by would assume it to be abandoned. The threat of pirates loomed but they were little in comparison to the powers of the Force.

The two men made their way to the medical bay and found the droid working the tank, channeling a mixture of bacta and water into it, the gooey redness of bacta dissolving into the blue haze of water. Though Vader grew to despite the tank and the imprisonment it had offered him all these years, there was a certain stillness to it that allowed him to rest. Luke, too, could rest.

"The tank should be ready at any moment; I'd suggest preparing him for the harness."

Darth Vader looked to his son. The youth was sweating still, his mouth twitching and opening silently, his squinted eyes and brow furrowed upward in pain. He eyed his right arm and noted what remained of his hand. That unfortunate and miscalculation of his own strength and rage had caused him to maim his son – he had only meant to sever his lightsaber in two. While a part of his soul was burdened with hurting his only son, a part of him was grateful still for the pain that he had granted him. He learned a lesson of what happens when one fails.

He slid off Luke's undershirt and unfastened his boots before tugging down his fatigues, throwing them to the side, leaving the youth in his underwear. The son, clad only in white briefs, was swaddled in his father's arms. He looked like a babe in that moment – unaware and powerless. He missed those first years with his son; he missed his birth. He would get back the years he had lost, all this time. Darth Vader was there to witness the rebirth of his son into his life.

Vader clipped the harness to Luke's waistband before lowering him into the tank. He floated there silently against the current of the bacta mixture, sloshing about in peace. His son would know power but he would also know peace. There would be no open threat to his son – not now, not that he finally had _her_ back. There would be nothing that could link back to the father and son.

He eyed the droid.

"We thank you for your services," Vader hissed as he activated his lightsaber, stabbing the droid through his core and slicing upwards through his head. Sparks fired out violently towards him in his betrayal, before they dimmed down to a still flame. The droid fell to the floor in silent death.

That creeping feeling of joy relished again, inside that cybernetic suit. For the first time in over two decades, Darth Vader, Dark Lord of the Sith, began to feel the remains of his humanity. The prosthetics felt hollow in comparison to the glory he felt in his chest.

Before, there was only him.

Now, he was no longer alone in this cruel universe.


	4. Dancing with Light

A day had passed since the events on Cloud City.

Princess Leia Organa alternated her time between the cockpit and roaming emptily around the ship. She wanted to make herself useful but she couldn't help but feel so defenseless, useless. Lando and Chewie had control of the Falcon and they had the ship under control, for the most part.

Artoo and Threepio would occasionally wander about the cramped halls and speak with her, trying, she assumed, to cope just like the rest of them. Sometimes Artoo would sit by her side and whistle sadly, before nodding off into a short slumber.

She felt for him.

Throughout the last few hours, Leia was attempting to patch in to the radio through her commlink. She hoped for some kind of news; local, Empire, Alliance, anything. Anything that would tell her what had happened overnight. It still made such little sense in her head. How did they get here? How did they fall apart so fast and so hard?

 _I love you_ , she'd play back in her head, wanting to say so much more to the man she loved. Leia wished there was a more positive memory she could focus on; his lips against hers for the first time, the humorous way he'd snark up a conversation, the first time he taught her to use a swipe a datacard.

 _I know_. The pain in his eyes was all she could remember, all that the mind allowed her to reflect on. His pain had become her own pain, his sad eyes looking up into her face one last time. She wished for more time. She wished he were here, now, at her side. There was still so much left unsaid.

Suddenly, the commlink in her hands began to twitch.

"This just in, from our beautiful capital of Coruscant," a voice over the commlink said plainly after several hours of static. Leia had finally been able to get close enough to connect to a radio frequency. She jumped up from her seat and pressed the commlink directly to her ear. Imperial Propaganda.

"Rebel fugitive and activist Luke Skywalker was sighted on the planet Bespin yesterday evening. We are unsure exactly why Skywalker had made his way there, but rest assured, we made our presence known and quickly intervened on behalf of our friendship with Cloud City when we found out the danger they were in."

"Danger," she laughed at how ridiculous his statement sounded. The people of Cloud City were in danger, alright, just not the danger this drek pretended. They were in danger of losing their freedom and their rights as an entity, in danger of losing whatever basic civil rights existed within the Empire now. It had been some time since Leia listened to speech like this - at least a year. There was once a time when she would listen to individuals talk like this for hours on end. Truth be told, she didn't miss it much.

"There were also reports of a sighting of Princess Leia Organa, also wanted fugitive, though we weren't able to make any kind of confirmation. The Emperor was quick to respond to the potential threat of terror and sent in his best to apprehend Skywalker, Lord Vader among them."

It was irritating to hear all these half-truths being spun and twisted to fit the Imperial agenda. After what she had endured through them, all of this blathering dug under her skin. Leia just wanted to know what happened after she left – what they did with Luke.

"Unfortunately, both Lord Vader and Skywalker went missing overnight. There weren't much details to share, unfortunately, as a large amount of this story remains confidential. What we can share is that the entire city was searched and all that could be found was the hand of a human male, confirmed to be Skywalker. If you happen to catch sight of either Lord Vader or Skywalker, please, call our hotline."

His... hand?

Vader. It must have – it had to have been him. Only someone like him would be able to do something so cruel, so horrible. Leia thought she was seeing things as she saw the shadow of Luke Skywalker desperately cling to the ends of Cloud City, unable to climb, hanging with mere seconds before dropping. She had hoped that it was just the macabre inner workings of her mind reflecting on the horrors she'd endured.

"Poor Luke," she relied sadly. Throughout Leia's life, she'd always felt poised, confident. Strong. She could create her own path when the roads got narrow and broken, forging new alliances and trade routes with people of all walks of life. So a time like this, trapped from the rest of the universe and unable to help the friends she loved, was especially frustrating.

"I beg your pardon, princess," Threepio entered the cabin, walking briskly towards Leia, waving his arms about in a hurry. The droid was a tender annoyance that she had grown to love dearly, though his insistence on dramatics could grow thin depending on the mood.

"What is it Threepio?"

"It's Artoo. He's in the other room, down by the security panel. He claims to have reached something or something that knows the whereabouts of Master Luke."

Artoo suddenly came flying through the hallway, whistling loudly and stomping his feet around to get her attention. She looked to the droid curiously, hoping that the droid had good news to share. He spun his head backward and began walking back to the main cabin, she followed him. Artoo led her to the security room, where he was focused in on a panel.

"I'll mirror the channel to the commlink."

Leia punched in the numbers of the channel into her comm, quickly pressing the speaker into her ear. She didn't know what news she would hear – was Luke alive and on the run? Was he captured by a rogue Darth Vader? Did the Emperor claim him as his own? All of the thoughts terrified her.

"…was the hand of a human male, confirmed to be Skywalker."

She frowned at how familiar that statement sounded. "Artoo, this is just propaganda, footage that the Empire uses to make themselves look good," but the droid was quick to cut off her off, begging to continue to listen on. She eyed the droid and placed the comm back to her ear.

"We have received your message loud and clear, sir. Estimates currently have us at about a day and a half away from the capital," spoke a gruff voice, different from the last, unfamiliar and coarse. It coughed into her ear, causing her to wince in disgust and hold it away.

"Yeah, we had a delay but we are on our way back to the capital. You wouldn't believe the security clearance we had to hoop through to leave that space station. One of the Moffs decided to put the place on lockdown since Vader went missing; hell of a timing, huh? Anyways, the boys and I are gonna make a quick stop at a space depot not too far away but we should stay on our target. Not to worry, our package is safely concealed. No one is gonna be looking for Luke Skywalker's hand and especially not that ancient laser sword."

Leia smiled at the end of the message. If these men were somewhere nearby, they could track them down and maybe find out some information about where Luke was. Maybe yet, there was a chance of her retrieving that lightsaber from their grasp. The Princess knew just how important that blade was to her friend, remembering how he always had it clipped to the front of his belt, always in sight. If she remembered it right, it belonged to his father.

The weapon of the Jedi Knight – she remembered looking in awe when Luke drew it for the first time. It was a beautiful cyan color, elegant, extended outward like a neverending blade of light. Quite the contrast to the hellish weapon of Vader.

"As I said, we don't know where the kid went," the voice continued speaking. "He couldn't have gone far with one hand though. I bet he's dead somewhere. Or Vader took him. The Emperor really isn't happy about all this, from what I've heard out of my connections on Coruscant."

"Artoo?"

The droid was practically dancing at her addressment, spinning his head around and bumping his chest lightly against her knee. He had been so depressed for the past night; somber, quiet, spending half of his day in quiet sleep. Here he was, dancing, teeming with life yet again. Perhaps some hope still existed.

"Artoo, see if you can get the signature on that ship. Find out where they are going, if you can," Leia said to the droid, whom was quick to turn back around and experiment with the displays ahead of them.

She just knew that Luke was still alive – just knew it – and she'd be damned if a priceless family heirloom and a shining symbol of hope would fall into the clutches of the Empire. They'd be making a slight pit stop before going back home to the Alliance.

* * *

Docking wasn't so bad.

It wasn't a surprise to Leia that Lando proved to be an expert salesman. He concocted some strange tale over the radio about how they were friends with one of the owners, a regular at some of the grandest casinos in the universe. They managed to be able to land on one of the pads with higher clearance and free of pay. Maybe she was right to trust him.

"Princess, I saw them dock two levels below us, down on what I think is B-6. Chewie and the droids and I will stay on the ship while you go do what you need to do," Lando advised. She was already starting to get used to his banter. Overprotective but sly and charming.

"You're right, Lando, everyone needs to stay on the Falcon. This could be an easy mission but it could also go wrong and we don't need anyone else getting in trouble with me. After all, I'd need one of you boys to bail me if the going gets bad," Leia mused, leaning against Chewbacca with a smile on her face.

Lando nodded and made his way back to the cockpit, making sure that the ship was in strong condition.

Leia left the ship quickly, though not before grabbing a decorative scarf to wrap around and hide the lower half of her face. If these people knew who Luke Skywalker was, there was a very high chance that they would know who the Princess of the Rebel Alliance was.

"Our mercenary and his team are down in the cantina on B-5, Leia. Footage shows them arriving about ten minutes ago, so you should still be good on time; remember, B-6," Lando's voice whispered into her ear. Underneath the scarf, she had placed the commlink right at the collar of her shirt, allowing her and Lando to directly feed any information to each other.

There was a certain rush to this mission. Leia found her mind taking a break from its tortured pains, distancing itself momentarily from Han Solo and Luke Skywalker. The thrill of adventure bubbled against her breast, calling her to act, to move. And that is how Leia preferred to do things – never still.

The elevator was quick enough. Leia made her way down B-5 and B-6, making sure to keep her scarf steadily above her face, before walking into the main hanger and heading out to the ship. There was a general unease to the hanger – she had the sinking feeling that someone or something was watching her. She reached for her pistol with her free hand, just in case. Now for the ship.

Which, of course, had to be locked. Another few minutes of dismantling and rerouting a few wires were added to her seemingly decreasing time. If there was one thing the Princess thanked for her time with Han Solo, it was all the unsavory and sordid tricks she learned from him. They came in handy from time to time.

"Alright, Lando, we're in."

Leia walked slowly about the vessel – this wasn't her first break in. Even if there weren't any kind of traps or alarms, there likely would still be some kind of security footage of her crime. Best be as unseen as possible. She clung to the shadows of the walls as she tiptoed her way around the cabin, before darting quickly into the cargo hold.

If one were a hand, where might one be?

There were plenty of boxes stored away to sift through, none of which Leia had the time to check. She'd need to be quick before anyone was alerted of her presence. She eyed all of the boxes from left to right, trying to discern which she'd go with as her gut instinct.

 _His father's lightsaber,_ Leia felt a voice whisper to her as she studied the middle box. She looked around curiously in an attempt to see who was speaking to her but it was in vain. No one was there. Did she imagine it? She shrugged and went to the middle box and carefully undid the seal of it, opening up the lid to stare at the contents that rest inside. Though nothing could have prepared her for what awaited.

Luke's hand was floating inside a see-through cylinder, turning clockwise ever so slowly, lightsaber in its grasp. The Princess nearly vomited at the sight, her stomach tightening and nausea swooning all around. Inside the container, Luke's right hand was turning clockwise ever so slowly against the field, his lightsaber firmly in grasp. With a silent tug, she opened the container and heard the dismembered appendage flop to the bottom.

"What did they do to you, Luke?"

Leia began to pry the fingers from the saber, the hand still warm to the touch. She shuddered as she went finger to finger, looking at every inch of his imperfections. His fingernails were long and dirty, of which she often chided him for, his knuckles bruised and slightly purple. Everything about it was so… human. Living. It was almost as if there was a ghost in there with her, a living part of a human, longing for its final rest. Leia let out a sigh of relief once she finally got the thumb off the switch.

The lightsaber was then moved to her own hand. An instant touch of the blade sent Leia spinning – feelings, memories, bliss, pain. There was an enormous weight to this weapon that went beyond the physical realm, almost as if it were trying to speak to her. She was shocked at just how natural the lightsaber felt in her grasp.

With hesitation, Leia closed the concealment and placed the package back into the box. She looked back at the rotating hand sadly and thought of the incredible pain and dangers her friend faced. Though she wasn't sure of what had happened to him yet, she knew something was incredibly wrong about all this. Vader had something to do with it, she told herself repeatedly, feeling that grudge grow stronger with every insult. Revenge would come.

"Lando," Leia whispered into her comm, hoisting the lightsaber onto her belt. "The mission is a success. Prime the engine, I'll be back soon." She quickly opened the door of the vessel and made her way out, trying to leave the sick image behind. The lightsaber bounced and wobbled against her body as she snuck around the hanger, carefully making sure no one spotted her thievery. The weapon felt comforting. It was almost as if Luke remained with her, warm against her embrace, safe from harm.

As she made her way out of the hanger, Leia noted one of the men from the ship making his way back. She made haste as she walked briskly back to the Millennium Falcon, whispering directions to Lando and Chewbacca to prepare for so they could leave as fast as they could. And then, another man passed by.

"Lando, the ship better be ready, I have a really bad feeling about what will happen next if we aren't quick about this," Leia hushed into the mic as she entered the elevator. She dialed upward and let out a sigh of relief as she left the floor and made the next step to freedom.

"Going so soon?"

The voice came from behind. Smiling nervously, Leia twisted backward to face the figure. It was the man in charge of the delivery – the one whose ship she had broken into. He was a smaller man, though dressed like one would expect a merc, flashy and silver plating decorating his outfit.

Relax, Leia told herself. There was almost always a diplomatic solution to every problem. He couldn't have known what she'd done just yet. She exhaled and yanked down the scarf from her face, smiling back at the mercenary and inching toward him just a little bit.

"I'm sorry but I don't think we've met," Leia replied courteously, pulling down her jacket to hide the lightsaber from plain sight. The man smiled and walked closer to her, putting his hand on the elevator panel and stopping the ascent. She looked at him and stepped back. Yet with every step, he continued to pursue.

"No, I'm afraid we haven't, Senator Organa."

Force. Leia was sure that she had disguised herself well enough to avoid being caught – damn it, damn it. There was bloodthirsty smile on this man's face, his wrinkles arching upward as open bloodlust soaked his skin. Leia walked as far back as she could until she was up against the railing, the man continuing to creep close to her. He gripped her by the shoulder and she shrugged back in response.

"I came to this depot for some dinner and it seems like I caught some dessert. You're quite the wanted woman, Senator Organa. Or do you prefer to go by Princess these days? The Emperor has put up quite the lofty reward for your corpse," he snarled at her, pinning Leia to the wall with both of his arms.

"There's no need to be so hasty, please, let me go."

"Let you go?" The man let out a loud laugh that filled the entire room, taking Leia aback considering his relatively small size. She ducked from under his grasp and ran to other side of the elevator, drawing her blaster and directing it right at his chest.

The mercenary grunted as he walked toward Leia, a devious smile crossing his lips. "With that Skywalker's hand and your corpse, I'd wager I'd have more to lose if I were to let you go," he spat, reaching for a knife on the outer edge of his boot. He charged at her.

Leia fired her blaster and was shocked to see the blaster bounce from his chest and deflect into the flooring.

"A mercenary is prepared for anything, Princess, including the best armor the Empire can buy," the man smiled as he twisted his knife around his fingers, a sick gravely chuckle escaping his mouth as he charged toward her and rammed Leia into the corner of the elevator, holding the knife to her throat.

"It's nothing personal," the merc whispered into her ear, his breath foul and hardened with the smell of alcohol. He smiled as he inched even closer to her face, only a small fragment of air between the two.

"Say hi to the Skywalker kid for me."

She threw the blaster to the floor and instinctively reached for the lightsaber, grasping it, holding her thumb against the ignition and lunging the blade straight into the man's torso. He immediately stepped back and away from the lightsaber, falling down to his knees and holding the gaping hole in his body with his two hands. The mercenary's eyes were filled with anger at the theft, eyeing the lightsaber, and knowing certain of his coming demise in but a few seconds left.

"Prepared for that?"

Leia dipped down on her knee and swiped the dagger out from his clenching hand. The mixture of fear and rage in his eyes gave her the tiniest bit of comfort in knowing what lied ahead for those that tried to cross her. The lightsaber was deactivated but she could still feel its power coursing through the air. With a heavy exhale, she looked at the mercenary dead in the eye.

"Say hi to Tarkin for me."

Standing up from her crouched position, Leia took her eyes off of the man and made her way back to the elevator panel. It was only a few seconds later before he topped down the floor, soaking it with death. She knew she would have to leave quick before the rest of his companions would discover his murder – and the loss of their prized cargo.

"Sorry, Lando, I ran into some trouble. We're gonna have to get out of here even faster, so I hope you have the ship ready. I'm entering our hanger now, prepare to leave the second I get on. We don't have a lot of time before they find out."

Adrenaline rushed through Leia's body as she ran to the Millennium Falcon, a new sense of wonder and curiosity opening up inside herself as she held the lightsaber. Something was lost when she had entered this base but holding this weapon, this powerful yet mystical weapon, she found something. There were distant shouts coming from the floor below, men quickly shoving their way up the stairs and heading her direction.

Leia made her way up the ramp of the ship and let out an exuberant cheer as it began to take off. The lightsaber was warm against the skin of her hand, almost as if it were calling for her, speaking to her. It was as if the weapon was an organic being of it's own. She didn't feel powerless. Leia felt strong.

"We're coming for you, Luke. Han, you too."


	5. Breaches to the Mind

"Anakin?"

The Sith Lord was dreaming again. Dreams did not come often to Darth Vader, often escaping his grasp or twisting into grotesque nightmares that he couldn't escape. They were starting to become more regular the more he thought of his son, the longer he dwelt on his past. Scars of distant memories were being broken and the most painful scabs ripped at once.

She was there, tilting her head back, exposing her wide and childish grin, staring deep into his eyes. She was as beautiful as ever, her hair curled and dancing against the wind. It wasn't often that she personally came to visit – though she used to at the beginning. Her presence used to remind him of the scars he bore, the physical and emotional mutilation that cut him into this person. Those eyes peered at him and he could feel his soul unraveling, his burnt lips pleading for one last kiss, an embrace between armor and flesh.

That voice came from the tallgrass of Naboo, nestled by the bright and colorful clothes that caught his eye. He could remember her beauty but the mental image had begun to deteriorate after decades of silence. As time passed, she had begun to fade with the wounds and scars till the point she became a wondering ghost that lingered. Guiding but never revealing, she tended to hide in the deepest crevices of his mind. Nudging and whispering but quiet. Distant.

It had been years since Vader last heard her speak.

Here she was: the love of his life. She was smiling at him – she forgave him, though he did not deserve it. There were bad feelings that went with the good; monstrous, ravenous pains that haunted him every waking moment. First and foremost, guilt. She gave him the world and he took it from her. Not purposefully – at least, he didn't think he did. Vader was so angered, so lost in the darkness, he took out his frustrations on her once corruption took over. He remembered the pain in her eyes as she choked, hands clasped around her throat and struggling against him, rocking against it and rebelling. He saw her give up. She died because of his actions.

There was more that lingered than the former Queen and Senator of the Naboo. Behind her stood a shadow so great, one that he could never hide from. It preyed on him from within and fed on his insecurities. He was weak. No matter how much power he amassed, no matter how great he became with the Force, it was never enough. Any that grew close to him were lost to the flames of despair.

Mother.

"Anakin."

The visage of his wife slowly morphed upwards, slightly taller in build, face twisting and contorting into a familiar image. The figure tried to speak as she positioned into shape, extending out her hand toward him. Her eyes were sad. They were the only memory he had of his mother after he was freed; saddened eyes that desperately wanted more. Vader understood that feeling. To be on the brink of death and wanting all the time and power the universe could give, only to constantly be let down. He wanted the strength to save her just as she wanted the strength to hold him once more.

His mother was strong – stronger than he. Though his shackles to the slavers were freed, they were simply handed over for a new type of prison. It was a prison that never truly allowed him to be himself, never do the kinds of things he wanted to do with his unmatched powers. He knew he would die a slave.

She, at the very least, died free and proud.

Vader was unsure which woman was his greatest failure; the woman that shared the universe with him or the one that brought him into it? They both hung heavy on his shoulders, weighing him down to the depths of hell, burdening his remaining soul and setting it aflame with every reminder. Not only was Vader a slave to his master – some part of him, a part that he despised, was a slave to the child left.

The woman drew her hand back and her frown turned upwards, her eyebrows arching back in glee. Her face moved against her dirty and plain skin, folds and calluses and sores overtaking it, eyes morphing into a sinister reddish gold. Her back hunched forward and she grew more diminutive in size. It was only a few moments later that his mother disappeared yet again.

"Vader."

Master.

That's what he was – the master that held his leash, holding him steady from falling apart into madness. All these years, his servitude was the only purpose for his existence. He lived and thrived off the pain, torture, despair of others. There was no more passion; there was an empty husk that devoured any scraps that were his way. Vader would not be alive without his master.

Vader, possibly, would not exist without his master.

But there was rage, there, too. He never once bought the fabricated lies that he was told, never once trusted his superior with the truth. There were lies. Holes in his little scheme of webs that seemed to be unravelling at every corner, much to Vader's delight. The Empire, despite its powerful might, could soon crumble apart based off the corrupted foundation. His master wanted to live forever – wanted his empire to thrive for an eternity. He had become somewhat blinded to his weaknesses.

Despite his anger, however, Vader was quick to fall to his knee at the mention of his name. For now, this man was still the one in control, the one that held him together by the seams. He knew his place. But that place could and would change sooner than anyone may expect.

That arrogant smile broke off and turned down to a sour frown, sunshine and light beginning to pour through his pores, wrinkles and lines fading away into a smooth layer of skin. Those bleak and oppressing eyes opened wide and a lush blue poured out of them; the master turned into the hopeful apprentice.

"Father."

Luke Skywalker wasn't the striking figure that the Dark Lord had built into his mind. He was rather plain, in fact. He was short and his hair was unkempt and moppy. He was just an everyday young man that could be found on any planet. That's why he was so dangerous to the Empire, he supposed. Luke had the eyes of a child, those that look up into the universe and hope to see the best of it that they can. Those eyes weren't inherited from him – they belonged to her. Much of the boy belonged to her; that almost he could see when he stared at him.

The scars of war on his face reminded him of himself, though. Tanned skin, just like how his own used to be, decorated in light freckles thanks to the blast of two suns. He was at a delicate crossroad in his life: no longer a boy but still on his way to becoming a man. So much potential waiting to be untapped.

The youth was the tool he needed to plan his revenge. Though his skills were not ready to face a full Sith, he would soon grow with time. The two of them could fulfill the promise of the Sith and take down his master – rule together, side by side, father and son. They'd be the greatest force in the galaxy. None could stop their rule.

Though Luke's eyes were blue, he sensed his mother's optimism and hope lying inside them. They were dangerous to stare at for too long, too obvious of what had been lost. So much good wasted. But he couldn't stop looking back, intoxicating what remained of the man.

Should that hope be crushed or relished?

Does she live on or does he dare his purpose thrive?

"Father," Luke whimpered against the covers, wrapped in a cocoon on top of a bed, awaking with a start. He was just at the end of a strange dream, one where the façade of Anakin Skywalker met the reality of Darth Vader. The two men were at war with one another, blue lightsaber against red. They fought for what seemed like days, one winning before the other would succeed, like an endless massacre of men.

There were other figures too: Ben stood back in the distance, watching with intense eyes. Yoda, too, marveled from afar as the two men battled. More were also there but their shapes were disfigured, unable for Luke to discern. They each spoke something once but were silent otherwise. He couldn't understand. Looking back to the two men, both shells of his father, they laid on the floor in silence.

His father.

The young man unfolded himself out of the blanket and opened his eyes, taking in the room that surrounded him. It was quite bare and small, only offering a metal slab of a bed and a small washroom to the side. He didn't know where he was or who was with him. With the squint of his eyes, Luke reached out and attempted to sense his surroundings.

The echoless expanse of space, it's cold aura permeated the facility. This wasn't a world. There was rock, sure, and tiny bacteria that thrived against their grains but little else organic. Instead, the weight of metallic doors and the humming of footsteps against metal overtook those natural sensations. He could hear the hollow rumblings of an automatic breathing apparatus. Vader.

Luke shoved the blanket down to his knees and immediately noticed he was naked.

"Great," he murmured aloud, standing up from his place and wrapping the blanket around his body. He noticed that the bruises on his arms and hips were gone – the panging of what he assumed to be broken ribs were all but cured. There was a sick sweetly smell in the air, a smell he had sensed before in the past, coming from his body.

Bacta.

"That would explain it," he grimaced.

Luke remembered the last time he had been inside the bacta tank. Dabbling in and out of consciousness, he was aware of the presence of his friends, watching from afar as he rocked against the jelly-like substance. He remembered Han's reaffirming confidence, the happiness of the droids, and the friendly embrace of Leia. It all seemed like an entire lifetime ago.

He awkwardly tied two ends of the blanket to his waist – he wasn't just going to wonder around completely exposed – and soon realized how tiring it was only having one working hand. Luke stared at the stump of his right arm. He touched it with his left and was shocked to feel nothing. No pain, no feeling, just a void of dead nerves.

"It will be replaced in time."

Luke looked up to see his father walk into the room, almost unnoticed. The man was a dark contrast to the room, his black armor looking like a hole against a white expanse. It was only fitting, he supposed. Vader walked a few steps closer but didn't dare inch too close.

He was angered still. The denial had came and went, as did the grief, but the young Jedi was furious. He was furious at the unspeakable horrors his father had committed, the hundreds of thousands he was personally responsible for killing, the torturing of Han and Leia, and the murder of his old mentor.

But he was curious. Here stood his father, the man responsible for his life, directly before him. There was much he wanted to know, so much to ask. The puzzle had been laid before him for years but the pieces were missing all this time. He could connect them now, figure out the truth.

His fear was palpable. He wanted to speak but he couldn't – not yet.

"I've come to return your clothes," Vader said, awkwardly after a period of silence. In his hands, he held Luke's fatigues and boots in a neatly piled stack and gently laid them down on the floor. The Sith looked to his son and turned around, facing the doorway.

"Get dressed. Now is the time for training."

Luke shook his head and untied the blanket, tossing it to the ground, before walking over his clothes. He slid on his briefs easily enough but it took longer than he anticipated as he put on his pants. He assumed he was quite an awkward sight, bending one way and holding his weight on the opposite side to tug them up. He didn't even bother with the jacket and only put on the undershirt instead.

"You may once have been my father but you can keep your training," Luke whispered back defiantly. "I'm not giving in to the dark side."

He noticed this statement got a rise out of Darth Vader, whom turned back around and faced his son. With a small flick of his finger, Luke felt his muscles tighten and his body slowly lifting into the air. He wrestled with it, struggling against his grasp, but the might of Vader and the Force proved too strong.

"This is but a taste of what I can do," Vader said, with a hint of delight behind his voice. He lowered his hand and Luke collapsed awkwardly to the floor. The boy was shaken and was quick to get on his feet. He cautiously stood back from his father and looked to him in fear.

"I'm more powerful than any Jedi. Obi-Wan, he had his strengths. But they were too limited, too simple. He was a poor teacher and he would lead you down the same path he led me."

"You're wrong," Luke replied, inching closer to Vader. "Ben was a good man."

"Good is questionable, Luke. I wouldn't call a man that spent his short time with you spreading lies a figure of trustworthiness nor worthy of your loyalty," Vader spat, turning his back to his son and walking out of the room. Luke begrudgingly followed him, knowing he ultimately had no other option.

The words he spoke – they stung. Mainly because he couldn't actually defend them. Luke was lied to, certainly, and was being lead on a mission to defeat and destroy his own father. Maybe Ben wasn't the paragon he had thought. Perhaps everything had been a lie to send him out on this path. Still, everyone had their own share of flaws and Vader's far outdid his mentor's. That couldn't be forgotten.

The duo followed one another in silence.

"My apologies to your lightsaber, I'm afraid it was found before I arrived," Darth Vader finally spoke amongst the silence. Luke looked down to his belt and noticed the patch of leather where his weapon once was held. The weight it carried was effortless; more pronounced now that is was missing than when it clung against his waist. He missed it more than he missed his hand.

"It was yours first, wasn't it?"

"That is of no consequence, it belonged to a different man, a weaker one," Vader said, stopping amidst a vast empty room. "The same will be true for you, too. In due time, you will build your own. One that will be far more powerful and fitting to your grasp."

But Luke didn't want another lightsaber – he wanted his own back. He wanted the one that belonged to his father, the one that belonged to the man that preceded the machine.

"We have arrived."

The Jedi followed the Sith and stood to the distance, eyeing him with hesitation. He wouldn't be giving into his games; he knew just how pervasive and sick this corruption in the Force was. Before he could open his mouth to reply, Luke found himself collapsed to the floor, his tendons and muscles tightening up again as he curled into a ball. His head was slowly turning a purplish red. Luke looked against his squinted eyes to see his father's open hand right against his temple.

The closer his hand got to his skull, the more he shook.

"This is your first test," Vader mused, playfully waving his hand close to his face. "We are going to discover just how strong you really are. If you give in, the pain will end and the darkest depths of your mind will open, releasing the secret workings inside. If you resist, the pain will double. The choice is yours."

It was the most violent migraine Luke had ever felt – his body was convulsing against the current of energy that came from Vader's hand, his eyes rolled back, no longer able to see. Fear began to take over – what to do, what to say? What to make this pain end? But no, he had to endure the pain, he must. His head blew backward as a stronger jolt pulsed through his brain, probing with force.

It was a relentless onslaught. Waves of threads were throwing his head in different directions, thrusting him forward and back, angered by his refusal. He could physically sense it inside his head, a virus-like mutation pillaging and worming it's way around. His most treasured memories – they were there now, rustling through hundreds at once, flipping back and forth like a book, trying their hardest not to be exposed. But with every second, they slowly began to reveal themselves.

"Give in, Luke."

He noted the pains beginning to go away – his head throbbed and ached but was no longer feeling that intense torment. He could breathe, his muscles were relaxing. It was all going away. If he just continued to relax and not struggle, it would all be okay. Just let it be.

"Yes, son, reveal yourself to me."

No! He can't give in, not yet, no. Luke squeezed his eyes and began to resist again, fighting back against the darkness that was swarming his brain. It hurt so much but he couldn't give in. He couldn't just give Vader what he wanted so quickly, not after all he fought and suffered. There had to be another way. There must have been something. Yes, something.

The Force… it was there, too, acting alongside this corruption. If only he could find a way to tap into it against the agony; just one long enough moment to concentrate. Luke bit down on his lower lip and fought back against the barrage, his forehead growing almost a full purple as he extended his neck outward. It hurt. He was digging into his lip now, blood coating the whiteness of his teeth. Adrenaline rushing. Now was the time to act; use the Force!

"Never!"

Luke shrieked out at the Dark Lord, sending him flying backwards against the wall. The pain immediately ceased as distance spread between Vader's glove and Luke. The youth collapsed to his knees and held his head up with his left hand, rocking it gently, waiting for peace to resume.

"Impressive," Darth Vader grunted out, shrugging his shoulders backward as he walked away from the wall and back towards his son. Luke sensed a sick happiness within Vader, as if an addict who was recently sated. He could feel his father's appetite for power, the thrill it gave to him.

"You managed to resist long enough, far more than any other individual," he stalked behind Luke and grasped him by his shoulders in pride. The rebel couldn't bear to look up. "Not enough, I'm afraid, to stop me from getting what I want. You have much potential, my son."

Against his father's grasp, Luke couldn't help but think this was a game far bigger than just him and his father. He was a pawn of something far bigger than he could imagine, a tool to a means not yet discovered. He shrugged off Vader's grip and stood on his feet, unable to look at his mask directly. Luke Skywalker knew things would be getting far worse before they'd be getting any better.


	6. Whispers of Corruption

The Dark Side.

Yoda warned of its terror back on Dagobah. "Is this dark side stronger," Luke asked to his diminutive master, not fully understanding the topic. The green creature was quick to correct him, sharply declaring that it was not more powerful, only more seductive, instant. The young Jedi thought of it in simple terms, such as his blue lightsaber and the red lightsaber of his opponent. Scarlett red dazzles and enchants the mind, taking hostage of it almost immediately. One must take a longer look to notice the sleek and charming contrast of the cyan haze against it to truly grasp the beauty within.

There were also rumors that floated across the universe, some of which Luke had read in his meager knowledge of books and libraries (so little existed to begin with). A small subset spoke of it as another natural manifestation of the living Force, just unused thanks to the taboo and tradition of the Jedi Order. There was instant gratification and power that came along with that – instant adrenaline that would channel one's desires.

Luke Skywalker felt it that day, swarming around the innards of his brain, stabbing itself into the nerves and releasing a pleasurable euphoria that ate away at the soul, bit by bit, as his father became one with him through the Force. Those senses were stronger when one was in tune with it and stopped fighting it – every little scent became twice as odious, the sweetest taste turned to a sickly poison, transforming the willing owner into the slave of the substance. It was the work of corruption at it's finest, the urge for power lusting and leading the individual toward the most damning methods of release.

That was the first time the youth had tasted that kind of power. It was enthralling and triggered a form of ecstasy around the body; the veins under his skin were almost stabbing out, his pulse pounding hard against his heart. The Jedi wondered in his time afterword if this was what initially lured his father to the Dark Side of the Force. As sadistic and outwardly villainous as Vader appeared, Luke sensed that there was something greater that channeled and directed his rage. For him, there had to be something more than just pure evil – something drew him to this moment; to this great menace of society. Something that, Luke sensed, to be equally as selfish as it were selfless. Something about the way his father reacted to him sparked that thought. Luke couldn't help but wonder if his father, Darth Vader, truly cared for his son's wellbeing underneath the plating and cybernetic armor. Still, that did not change that the man was perverted and corrupted, drawn to darkness by straying from the light.

While he understood the appeal of the Dark Side, he couldn't see a universe without the goodness of the Force. _The light_ , as Vader mentioned it, was the binding will of all living things. He would argue that it wasn't, in fact, light but the purest concentration of an omniscient Force that penetrated all organic and inorganic life. This was the Force. That was not something the youth could hate – only one that had suffered so deeply, someone who had been utterly broken, could see a thing as beautiful and angelic as that as a sick source of divine authority.

Order was necessary for Luke Skywalker. True, he often strayed and was quick to act on his impulses, but at the end of the day, there was always a structure and order that the boy longed for. He found it within the Rebel Alliance – with his friends. Though he didn't dare admit it, he also started to think he was finding it here, on this space station, with his father.

As he reflected on these thoughts, Luke laid still in his chambers of this strange fortress that Vader had stowed him away on, isolated from the rest of the galaxy, suspended out beyond the sense of his own meager powers. There was a bizarre sense of safety he felt every night as he enveloped his legs and twisted his body around the warm blanket, huddling underneath, thinking of the week he had endured thus far. This little room had become his sanctuary from the forced lessons he'd attend with his father.

But with each passing night and every training session, the room got a little darker and it became harder to feel safe in. The more he let in those dark thoughts during training, the more they pervaded the steel walls of his chamber and tried to sift their way into his mind. It didn't help that each time he met with his father, these thoughts and feelings were exacerbated.

Just the night before, the two men, father and son, sparred with unsharpened rods. He could hold it well enough, albeit rather clumsily, but the captured rebel had to relearn everything that he had learned in the past three years. There was a skilled swordsman buried in the soul of this man but his prior potential had been stripped, severed, belonging to a part of himself that no longer existed. Left-hand would have to do.

That in-and-of-itself wasn't an issue. Luke used his left hand for the most mundane things throughout most of his life; he threw a ball with his left, ate with his left, could even fire a blaster well with his left. There wasn't much that he ever had to write but, when forced, that was the hand he'd use.

Swordplay, however, was a different beast. The few lessons he learned with the blade came from old Ben, whom he marveled at from afar and mirrored his actions as he trained diligently, swishing and swiping back at the blast from training droids and simple air. Rightness became ingrained in the youth. It was how he was taught and it was how he continued training for the past three years.

Not even thirty seconds passed before their duel had started, Vader twisted the rod out of his son's hand and spun it into the air, smacking it against the ceiling and rolling out to the end of the room. Luke remembered how frustrated he was with himself in that instant – how angered he was at Vader abusing his weaknesses, how much that anger fueled his aggression as he went on the offensive.

"The weak will be consumed by the strong," he remembered his father saying as he lay out on the floor, sprawling out and reaching for his weapon a few meters away. "You are still weak, young one. But I will make you strong. You must adapt and grow if you are to survive, my son. There are far greater beings in this galaxy than I."

 _You're the one that made me weak,_ Luke thought angrily then, keeping his lame arm to his side and thinking of it's dead weight; the constant reminder of his loss anchoring him with more strength than any hand could. Without his sword hand, Luke had been forced to become like a child again, unlearning and relearning the past. In truth, there was a part of him that resented it.

He reached for his stick with his left and continued the fight, swiping from different angles and turns, mirroring his father and trying to find the weaknesses within his movement. Darth Vader was slow and ferocious – like the great Krayt Dragon of Tatooine. As long as he didn't allow himself to get overpowered or swarmed, he could be able to find a way to turn the tide in his favor. That was his failing on Cloud City. Where he should have allowed his father to strike first and carry the offensive, Luke went all out and exerted most of his energy before the duel really even began. The Jedi didn't make this mistake again, as he parried and let Vader lead, dodging the undercuts with ease.

Surprise – that was the only way he could take control of the fight. The one slice Luke got in during their first duel was through impulse, the primitive instincts of rage that allowed him to act through the Force. The two sticks met each other, Vader thrusting with great intensity, as they held against the weight of the other. While Vader was focused on pushing back against his son, Luke had an idea in mind: now was the time to act. Quickly rising his crippled arm to the air, Luke extended his stump and acted as if his hand were still there – shooting out a current of Force energy that flew Darth Vader's rod out of his hand and into the wall of the vessel.

Luke remembered the silent shock and (assumed) pride of his father in that moment, where he retook command of the battle. Vader struck back harder after he reclaimed his weapon and proved to be a bit more ferocious afterword but it was thanks to his own respect for his son and his skill. Though weakened, Luke would never go down without the last inch of his will exerted. He'd fight to the very end and he knew Vader would always respect him for that.

And so even here, in this silent and safe bedroom, Luke tried his best to shake off the insecurities that fueled off of his successes. He was able to outwit his father – for one moment – but would he be able to in the future? How could he get stronger if he never lived up to that one moment and continually failed? How else would he be able to get the power to escape and slip back to the safety of Han and Leia?

He thought of his father – he didn't understand the dynamics of this relationship. It definitely wasn't normal. Luke felt like a puppet to his father, a puppet that his father loved, but one that he was willing to use to achieve whatever sick needs he had in store. After all that this man had done to his friends and his own self, why did he still manage to care? Why did he want to feel accepted by this man? Why did his respect and pride feel like the world to him? It shouldn't – it was wrong, he knew it was wrong, everything about it was wrong. Maybe _he_ was wrong, too.

"I am your father," he remembered hearing. There were icy tears of frustration and rage that slid down his cheeks, racing with intense urgency as the words resonated with his soul with every second he continued to process them. So much rage – hatred. How long ago that seemed; though Luke imagined that nowhere near as much time had passed as he felt.

He thought of his friends – wondering if he'd ever see that dumb grin of Han Solo or hear the warmness and sophistication in Leia's voice. If they were to continue on this path, were they ever going to be able to be safe with the Empire after them? It troubled him immensely to think of, now that he was captured at the hands of a third party.

Luke was just a boy the last time the three of them had come together. Now, he wasn't quite sure what he was. His innocence was destroyed but he felt more inexperienced and childlike as ever. Every event henceforth was shaping him, he was growing. Han wasn't there to huddle against him and keep him warm against the cold of snow; the rebel was alone. Just himself and his father.

There was another option now, though one the Jedi would need to tread carefully if he chose it. Before, there was just the Galactic Empire and the Rebel Alliance. Now, there was a detached figurehead of the Empire and a hero of the Rebellion that could create a sense of order and peace between the two. Discussions could resume, trade could continue, communities could thrive. But that would mean the end of Emperor Palpatine.. whom Luke had never even met.

Would anyone trust him again if he went down that path? Could he trust himself? Luke was never going to become the slave to darkness that his father had but, while captured and imprisoned, perhaps it would prove useful to play along and take in what his father has to teach. There was much he still had to learn.

But that path would prove dangerous – even now, at the beginning stages, he could already feel the lingering corruption that sought the essence of his own purity. It would only grow in time. Limits must be set and a careful life of duality and balance would have to be pursued. He needed to trust himself if he chose to walk against the current. It wasn't easy – most had failed, like his father.

His father.

No one would trust Vader. Luke couldn't blame anyone for that. The man abused his trust the second he started forcing his way into planets and meddling in their affairs, killing and torturing people for information, throwing away lives for meager disappointment or deception. He was indirectly responsible for the destruction of an entire planet, the home planet of his friend, and directly responsible for the torture of everyone he loved and cared about.

Why was he so desperate to accept and make the case for someone he should be hating with every fiber of his being? It was so hard to even comprehend – logistically, it just didn't make any sense to the Jedi. There was a budding connection that chained him to the man. If no one else in the galaxy could trust Darth Vader, the harbinger of death, why must he?

 _Embrace it_ , a voice within his skull whispered. _Embrace him and embrace the_ darkness. The boy clung to his blanket and buried his face in it's warmth, shutting his own eyes tight against the fabric. The voice would come to him at night as he drifted off to sleep, haunting for a moment before he slipped to the safety of dream. It was distant – but he could hear it with utmost clarity when he trained with his father, when he tapped begrudgingly into the darkness. He could feel his most perverse thoughts come to life, suggesting and planning for sick actions that Skywalker could never have dared imagine.

As his physical self began to feel withdrawal for his use of the Dark Side, he sought to his most primal urges to fight that devilish request. Sometimes that was found in the most primal instincts of laughter – memories of happiness. At night, he found himself embracing his own sexuality and holding to it, channeling whatever lingering aggressions into that and reshaping it into sensual moments of friendship and love. He would fight this monster. During those moments, he could shut out those depraved whispers and combat them with something else, something more pure.

Thinking of the happiest moments that led him to where he was at this very moment, something primal to combat these disturbing thoughts. In this instance, he thought of the companionship he shared with his best friend, Han Solo.

There was much he admired of his friend. The man had the courage of a thousand men with the wit of another thousand; if there were a situation that he got stuck in, he'd blow open his own entrance, driven by his sharp cunning. Luke could pilot small freighters well enough but the big vessels were hard to learn. Han directed them with such ease, precision, at times he'd even feel jealousy.

Jealousy. Dark thoughts encircled the entrance to his head and begged for Luke to open, fueling the insecurities and emboldening his fear. He remembered the own smug and devilish delight when Leia kissed him back on Hoth, a glimpse of a struggle between him and his friend – though innocent. He liked the tables being turned, Solo struggling uncomfortably as Luke embraced the power he gained. His flesh below hardened in intensity as his desire flushed over his senses; he lowered his hand and touched himself.

 _You need power_ , it spoke again, though fluctuating in sound and size.

The young Jedi, with his eyes still closed, shook his head and buried himself deeper within the covers. The sinister thoughts were growing at a rapid pace but he would fight them, still. Goodness still radiated within him. He'd think of those positive moments of friendship, hold to them, pray to them, and shut out the bad.

The Jedi wanted to expel these most lustful and gluttonous visions from his brain and this was one method to release them from his body. He rocked back and forth in silence, hearing those whispers get louder and louder, pulsating his nerves and raising the hair on his skin in response, until it finally culminated into a loud roar that soon cricketed off into silence.

"I'll never turn to the dark side," the rebel chanted, opening his eyes and staring straight into the shadows that surrounded the chamber. There was a hint of uncertainty in his tenor – slightly more questioning than declarative. He reached for the blanket and swabbed off the sweat from his forehead.

"I don't need power," he exclaimed, rising up from his cot and walking toward the sink. Searching for power would only lead him down a path towards destruction. Letting out a heavy sigh, he splashed a light bit of water against his face and waited till his breathing settled.

But he _did_ need power – at least, for now. The youth was weaponless, missing a hand, captured to someone whom was now the most-wanted fugitive in the galaxy. Strength was necessary to save his friends; strength was necessary to save his own fragile soul from the torments of the universe.

The worst was yet to come, he feared, sighing in relief as those thoughts released with his physical self. Corruption could influence even the smallest and most innocent being – he shook his head at his previous thoughts and shelved them for another day. Perhaps, when he was stronger. For now, while his will shined with light, he would fight until he must merge and become one with what he feared.


	7. What Remains will Never Perish

_He's just a boy._

That was the last conversation Darth Vader had with his master. Disgust and tortured wrath hissed underneath his mask that evening, as he heard the Emperor spew lie after lie, desperately trying to untangle his web of lies. It was never more obvious than in that moment – when he could see the twitch of nervousness and fear within his master's eyes, flickering in and out with the hologram.

The two men danced a delicate game of power, as he kneeled and looked up to Palpatine, whom in turn looked down at him. A war was brewing with the discovery of Skywalker; one that he sensed Palpatine wanted crushed quickly, executed, cleanly erased from the intricate Empire. It was only with Vader's own proclamation that his son could prove to be a powerful ally that his master smiled. That was never a good smile to witness. A civil war between master and apprentice was quickly approaching and the two men understood that. "He'd make a powerful ally," The Emperor mused, exposing his rotting teeth.

In that moment, Luke Skywalker was no longer a rebel fugitive. The youth that destroyed the Death Star and foiled the plans of countless missions became something greater – a magnificent pawn of the Dark Side, with two experts trying to claim that power over the other. Life would never be the same between the three men, Vader understood as he ended the transmission, beginning his hunt for his son.

His son proved wily but easy enough to capture with the threat of his friends. An admirable trait, to be sure, but one that he couldn't afford to have in the future. Not with the Emperor on the hunt. The boy needed to grow strong and learn to fight as if a man with decades at his side. There wasn't time – he knew his master was searching, in sadistic pleasure, to steal the one thing Vader had left.

Palpatine would never get to him.

Vader lay still in his chamber. Thoughts from his past were haunting him again, getting stronger with every passing day he had with his son, infuriating the Sith and ruining his meditation. There were glimpses everywhere, of what could have been, what still could be, what the past had done to him. Escape from his mind wasn't possible; like always, he was doomed to slavery in one way or another.

He didn't miss his master. For the first time in over a decade, Vader felt free from that leash. But other leashes clung tight to his collar, yanking the man left and right. Everything was always a constant struggle. Clinging to fear and rage, that was the only thing that could center him in those moments. By acting through his most primal instincts, Vader felt a temporary escape as he sliced and stabbed with his saber, throttling objects through his sheer power in the Force.

But this time, he listened.

"He's just a boy, Anakin," a voice said to him. The memory of his former name sent his blood boiling but the texture of that voice, the smoothness of the tone, also allowed him to relax. It was _her_. She was there, in that instant, next to him – though he couldn't bear to turn and face her anguish. But he felt her touch, delicate fingers tapping against the plate of his shoulder, worried.

"You expect too much, so soon," she pleaded. Vader could feel hear breath against his ear, sweet whispers that brought back feelings of joy and despair. The man looked downward and folded his arms, unable to face his guilt. There was truth in her words, he understood that. This wasn't how a father should be treating his son, a figure he needed more than anything else in his life.

"My love, you don't understand," Vader exclaimed after long silence, reaching back with his left hand and fingering towards the hand on his shoulder. "He isn't just my son. He is the only fragment that remains of you – the only piece I have of us. The only physical proof of what we shared. I'm not strong enough, this I've learned, but he still can. He must endure. He must survive."

The figure let go of his hand and walked quietly in front of him, placing her hands atop his head and breathing silently. There was still so much guilt over her, the woman he'd have destroyed the universe for. That power seemed so useless after she departed from this life. Every night when he could stomach it, he wished for her to come back. There was so much he needed to say, so much done to be undone. A simple dream could never fix the damage of the hundreds he'd personally murdered and the thousands he tortured all in a vain attempt to masquerade his pain.

Then, Luke fell right into his lap and everything felt whole. The galaxy had gifted him something he never deserved, after all those years of execution and murder. It was something worth protecting – worth the threat of a master that could end his fragile mechanical existence in mere seconds. Luke, like his mother before him, was worth the entire galaxy and more.

"Being strong has many definitions," she mused back at him, massaging her hands around his helmet, as memories of her gently playing with his hair in bed after the two consummated their love shook him to the very core. She was strong in so many ways, he remembered, stronger than him in several. Her loyalty was unbendable, the very fiber of her being, allowing to be the greatest friend and the best confidante. The senator never strayed; even when in love, her duties to her people always came first. Not just that, she had a skill with words that could turn even the most hardened man to her side.

She would have been the perfect Queen. Everyone would have loved her, just as much as he did, and would have stayed by her side at all times. Vader used to wish to rule to secure order and peace within the galaxy; though he knew he never could alone. He was far too brutish, too angered to act with a clean head. Someone needed to be there to guide and direct him, for his weakness stood out there, more than ever. He hoped to see that strength live on in his son, should they rule the Empire. There was a kindness and light within his son that could never truly die out, the way his own flame did.

"I'm too weak," admitted the Sith Lord, shielding his face from the woman of his dreams. "I can't protect him. I couldn't protect you, I couldn't protect my mother. There isn't time to be a father, not yet. He must become better than I, that's all I wish. There's so much of you in him.. I don't want that to die."

His hand was delicately moved to the side by her own, gripping it and holding it with great comfort.

"The relationship you had with me, the love we shared, you can still have it with your son. Don't let your insecurities hold you back. You'll only push him away and be left with nothing," she mused, wrapping him in her embrace. "Nothing will stop what is to come. Don't try to change the future; focus on what you do have. You can let this consume you – or you can take it and cherish it."

"My love, I," Vader choked back, holding her tight in his arms. There was so much conflicting emotions and voices ranging within his head, bouncing back and firing at the other, tearing him from one side to the other. Her warmth, however, was all he needed. "Let me see your face, once more."

The figure let go of him and knelt to his side, lifting his head up with the finger to his chin. The Dark Lord was taken aback as the visage of his wife transformed into the face of his son. Luke was staring at him, with a tender smile as he grasped the shoulders of armor.

"I am his face, just as he is yours and mine," he said back, his bright blue eyes reflecting stars. So much of him was made of the perfect qualities of his own and his beloved. She was right. But so much fear, such worry furrowed his brow. All Vader wanted was for his son to be strong and safe.

"I'm afraid."

"Afraid of what," the figure of his son questioned, tilting his head forward.

"Afraid of letting him in. That his interest and love for me will only prove to be a weakness that others will exploit – or maybe he won't love me at all. I don't deserve that, I don't deserve love. I could never be a good father the way you could have been a good mother. I don't know how to love anymore. All I know is how to make the weak strong. All I want is to protect him, protect what is left of you."

The boy frowned for a second before reaching for his father's hand. The touch of his son was practically identical to the touch of his wife – the steady pulse, the permeating warmness. "You can't protect him forever. You won't always be around yourself, take this time to let him in, Anakin."

Anakin – who was that man? Just a foolish youth that was scorched to the embers of Mustafar, skin melted to the surface, body parts lost to the sea of lava. Vader wasn't sure if any part of that man even existed still. He didn't think of him much, actively doing whatever needed to be done to destroy any lingering elements of that man. The man he once was, so many years before.

"Let him in."

Vader took a hard look at this figure and shook his head, staring down to the ground, watching it shake and tear apart in his rage and confusion. So much fear clouded his head, he could let go some of it, but not all. This dangerous war going on his head felt as strong as his evisceration on Mustafar, ever burning forever more.

It was so hard to let go – could he?

"Do it for us, Anakin."

With a heavy sigh, Darth Vader held his head back up to stare at his son. Only this time, his appearance had changed back into the woman that he loved so very much. She appeared before him, smiling, waiting for his answer. Years of memories began pouring back in his brain; their very first moment on Tatooine, where she spoke to him not as a slave, but as a human. She cared. So many didn't care – Palpatine, the Jedi, they never cared. She always wanted to understand him, to calm the wrecking sea. The last time they made love, where Luke was surely created, he felt so safe and secure in her arms as they momentarily escaped their fears and embraced sweet ecstasy. It was such a beautiful moment – the last good one he shared with his wife. They were one.

And then they weren't one. Vader had betrayed her in his rage and murdered the man that she loved so much: Anakin Skywalker. There wasn't much left of that man. The only thing that reminded was a hollow shell, strapped with armor and cybernetics, that only sadly remembered the memories of what could have been. There was only one answer he could give to someone that meant so much.

"I'll try, my love."

With that, Darth Vader awoke from his slumber dazed, looking back and right for the visage of the woman he loved. But she was never really there; she was never coming back to his arms. They would never enjoy the wondrous intimacy they once shared. The woman only existed within the confines of his memory – and in the living flesh of his son. "I'll try," he repeated once more.


	8. Lineage

It was probably a shock to most that knew Princess Leia Organa, the Senator of Alderaan, whenever she demonstrated her skills as a pilot. The opportunity rarely fell into her lap – and it wasn't a skill she was particularly confident in – but her talent was evident. It came to her effortlessly as she strapped herself inside the X-Wing and stowed off in the middle of the night.

Artoo was fixed in the eye of the cockpit, strapped just above her, beeping and whistling as the ship raised itself off of the metal floor and thrust into the black stillness of space. This was so sudden – so unlike the politician she was groomed into, so different from the woman burdened by responsibilities and structured order – but maybe it was more like the real her than she'd admit.

It wasn't as if she left with no warning; Leia had spent the past two weeks micromanaging her staff and working overtime to get ahead of schedule, later leaving a transmission inside her unit shortly before her departure that would list out the duties of the upcoming week and who needed to fill them in her absence. As a diplomat and one of the few reminders of her planet, she was frequently pushed to the background, always overseeing and never doing. Sometimes that was all she needed: doing.

"I know you were with him, Artoo."

The droid chirped at her as his message appeared on the dashboard.

"No, I'm not blaming you at all," she soothed to the droid as his feistiness wore down. "You aren't in any kind of trouble. Actually, you're just what I needed. I've been thinking since I got this lightsaber – and it reminded me of that place you and he went to; right before you came to rescue you us on Cloud City."

Dagobah, the droid whistled back at her. The princess nodded and closed her eyes for a second, remembering the blistering cold of Hoth, how her friend had been stranded in the ice. The worry she felt then practically paralyzed her from acting; even worse, when he returned in that delirious state, moaning about some Dagobah and Yoda nonsense.

"Right, Dagobah."

She smiled at the console as she sunk back in her seat. Luke's lightsaber hung close to her waist, scorched soot staining the metal of the handle. "I know that this is his," she whispered as she raised the weapon, grasping it firmly in her hand. "But I can't help but feel as if this belongs to me. Like, it is calling to me or something. I'm sure I sound like an idiot," hissed Leia as dropped the blade in her lap.

Maybe it was the girl in her head calling out – the voice that used to tell her she could be and do anything. She could be a pilot, she could be a Senator, she could be a leader; but a Jedi? That was just preposterous, foolish little thoughts of someone in way over their head. There was no way a woman of her age could learn the ways of the Force; no way could she wield such a weapon.

The lightsaber – her eyes instantly went back down and stared intently at the weapon, as it seemed to pulsate against her waist. Leia found herself in a trancelike state as her hand inched closer to the saber, her eyes and mind unable to divert their attention elsewhere. Grasp it.. grasp it. The sword spun off the clip and flew directly into her hand. Artoo chirped in surprise but Leia's mind was sent somewhere else.

* * *

"I'm not strong enough."

The senator of Alderaan found herself immersed within a haze – separated from the reality from which she was just in, with scenarios and buildings and figures erupting to translucent life. She knew her body lay still in the cockpit of the X-Wing but her soul had ventured to another time. "A vision," she questioned curiously aloud as the room completed formation.

"I will make you strong enough, my young apprentice."

Leia turned her head and saw the pristine and towering architecture of Coruscant come to life around her. There stood two figures, both cloaked, one looming over the other, overlooking the massive channels that made Coruscant air traffic. "I want to keep her safe," the taller figure pleaded, his tenor lighter and more tentative. "Her and my child. Nothing else matters at this point – I'd even give my own life so they'll survive."

She maneuvered herself around the two figures, to the point where she stood plain in front of them, though their faces were clouded by abstract shadows and swirling darkness. But her eyes caught the weapon handed by the menacing brute – the style, the cut, it all reminded her of her own lightsaber – Luke's lightsaber, Leia corrected herself. "You have done well, Lord Vader," she gasped at the revelation and backed away reflexively. This was Darth Vader; the man that had caused her so much grief and pain. This was him back when he was still _a_ man, with no apparatus and his flesh plainly visible.

"Your lightsaber has been tainted by the blood of the Jedi. I can feel the strength and raw power flowing through the very core of it," she knew this voice. It wasn't one heard often after she joined the Senate but it was available deep within the archives: the graveled and morphed voice of their Emperor. Everything started to make sense to Leia – they were connected. Vader wasn't some lone wolf that led astray of the Jedi Order; he was just a follower of a greater threat. "More blood must still be slain to sate the lust of the Dark Side. You know whom you must destroy, my young apprentice."

"Obi-Wan."

But before Leia could even process the statement, the floor beneath caved in, and she soon found herself falling down into darkness. "Twins," another male voice echoed from within. Despite her own haphazard flailing, she twisted her body back around and faced the direction of the voice. "You are going to have twins, my friend," this voice so familiar but Leia could not describe it.

"Show me," Leia cried aloud, throwing herself and standing upright as she continued to fall. White and grey specks filled the empty air around her, revealing small glimpses of the scene that took place. "Show me more," pleaded the Princess as she closed her eyes and brought both of her hands to fists.

The falling stopped immediately – Leia stood completely still inside the medical hub of a frigate, several people surrounding a very pregnant woman. "Father," she cried aloud as the silhouette of her father stood still around this figure, his face blurred and muddled; how she wanted to through herself around him, wrap her arms around his neck, to feel at home once more. But as she touched his skin, her own fingers slipped into the translucent mesh that made of this image – only an image.

"What can we do," the image of Bail Organa muttered with folded arms. The woman cried out immediately after he said this, blood-curdling screeches torn from her throat. This woman was suffering incredible pain, Leia noted, but she couldn't help but also wonder at the beauty and peaceful aura that surrounded this woman. Such kindness in the way she moved, the delicacies of her motions as more pain struck; though sadness was worn plainly on her sleeve. It reminded her of motherhood.

A figure walked through Leia and tended to the woman, holding a swaddled babe in his arms. She couldn't get a glimpse of his face but the way he moved, the gentleness of his voice, almost reminded her of someone she met not that long ago. As he turned to his side, Leia saw that same blade that Vader bore earlier clipped to his tunic. "The first child is a boy, Padme," he said with feigned happiness as he slung himself closer to the woman – the dying woman, Leia noted. "A beautiful boy. He looks so much like the two of you. What would you like to name him?"

"Luke."

She begins to fall once again as that phrase is said, her body spinning like a whirlwind of energy and force. But not even that physical insanity could compare to the utter confusion swarming about her restless head – Luke. This couldn't have been a coincidence. Leia just saw her best friend born from a mother he never knew, surrounded by people that she knew. Not only that but a twin that she nor he had ever heard of: another Skywalker still lived somewhere within this expanding galaxy.

"Luke," a booming voice echoed out from above, the scream of a piercing tenor tore through the fabric of this realm, as a lightsaber materialized out from the void and fell straight into her hands. Leia squealed in horror as she saw the severed hand that still clutched the weapon twitch, the thumb moving up and down over the activation. Another second passed and the hand let go of the saber, dried blood and ash collected around the base of the weapon.

"He told me enough, Vader!" cried out the voice of Luke Skywalker. The princess called out to the man, begging for his acknowledgement, hoping that he would be alright wherever he was. She wanted to protect the man, to hold him close, soothe him. Between his own ragged and uneven breaths, and the hint of agony that slipped out into his tone, she knew that her friend was gravely hurt and in danger. "He told me you killed him."

"No, Luke. I am your father."

* * *

Sweat dribbled down her forehead and onto her cheeks, forcing Leia to finally awaken. The blade was still clutched in her right hand, though the presence of it shook her deeply. As she quickly reattached the lightsaber to her belt, Leia shivered in confusion and fear as she thought of the visions that had just occurred. "It had to have been a dream," she whispered aloud. The droid whistled back to her but she chose to ignore him, focusing intently on what she just saw happen. "There is no way that could be true. It was just – some nightmare, something that came out of nowhere."

Artoo beeped at her again.

"We've landed?"

Leia's eyes widened as she took a second to look around at the bleak darkness that consumed the outside of the cockpit; brown and green barely fizzled out next to the pervading fog that brought both welcome and fear. "I'm sorry, Artoo, I didn't mean for that to happen. I guess I was just tired and lost control for a second – it won't happen again."

The droid whistled urgently and shook himself back and forth, causing the ship to rock and end its stillness. "I touched the lightsaber and fell asleep only a second later?" she repeated in shock as she read what the droid saw, causing her to slump back in her seat in awe. This was more than just a simple dream or nightmare: whatever it was that Leia witnessed in her sleep, there was something more to it, and that made her squirm. She had to move and think later.

The top hatch of the X-Wing opened up and Leia climbed herself out of the cockpit and onto the muddy earth of this planet that Luke spoke of – this Dagobah. "Doesn't look like much," she muttered as she climbed down from the landing and made her way onto a safer path. "Wonderful parking job, Artoo, certainly better than anything I could do."

Artoo chirped with glee and waddled carefully around her, moving past Leia and whistling like mad as he increased his speed. Puzzled by how quickly the droid was moving, Leia quickly called out to the droid and ordered him to stop: he did not.

"Well then, wait up!"

Leia followed the droid through the vines and broken branches, stepping carefully to avoid sunken mud and elusive creatures. There were massive lifeform readings on this planet but nothing she could sense – only flying creatures that stalked from the trees above and reptilian beings that slithered through the swamp. "I told you to wait for me," scolded Leia as she finally made her way to the droid. Artoo chirped at her as she approached him, motioning for her to look ahead. Right past the droid stood a small hut, crudely made but designed to last for a century. The princess made her way to the hut and ran her hand along the wall, feeling the smooth rock and the occasional patched creases. There was much she wished to ask; much she wished to understand and learn.

"Arrived you have."

Grabbing her blaster reflexively, Leia turned around and aimed right at the small creature that stood before her. He was a green diminutive thing, hunched and huddled by a brown robe that had seen better days. Artoo frantically wavered left and right, coming between her and him. "I take it you must be that Yoda thing Luke talked about," she nodded as she cautiously holstered her blaster.

"Careful like him, you are," the creature laughed as he hobbled his way over to Leia. "Quite different from Luke in many ways, I sense. Yes. Much good qualities within you but also darkness, there is. There is no time for games. Yoda, I am. Tell me, your name, hmm?"

The way the creature – Yoda – spoke was quite different than anything she'd heard in the galaxy; come to think of it, she wasn't sure if she'd ever seen his species before in all her travels. "Leia," she replied and folded her arms, staring curiously at Yoda. His words puzzled and also worried her.

"That lightsaber," Yoda marveled as he approached her. "You come because Luke failed."

"Don't talk about my friend like that! He didn't fail, he was captured," Leia hissed before leaning her head down and whispering slightly as she thought of just what her friend might be enduring. "Or worse. I don't know where he is or what they are doing to him. All I know is that I found his lightsaber and that I intend to rescue him."

"If trying, all he accomplished was, then failed he did," the creature replied somberly before clawing the weapon hanging from her waist. "To you does his lightsaber call, hm? Feel something special, do you, hm? Sense this, I can; belonged to many people, this blade has. Great power and history lies within. Felt it, you already have, no?"

Leia looked at the being with a frown, puzzled by his strange behavior. Seconds after, she nodded, and clutched the weapon away from him and held it close to her breast. "Moments before, if you can call it that," mused the princess as she fingered the artifact carefully. "I was on my way here and the lightsaber called.. to me.. as strange as that may sound."

"Not strange at all, it is."

"It was like I was in a trance or bewitched. One second I was talking to our droid over there, the next my mind and body were entirely focused on this one thing. I-I think I can remember the lightsaber flying off of my belt and into my hand and," paused Leia as she closed her eyes. "So much came flooding my way. I thought it was a nightmare at first but it was like a carefully constructed vision, of the past. I saw so many things: from Darth Vader, to my father, to Luke being born, to his capture."

"The Force, you feel."

"I don't have that power," she quickly dismissed the creature as she activated the blade. Her solemn eyes followed the cyan blade that jetted out from the core and watched as light wavered around the surrounding mist. "I am a Senator. I am a Princess. Luke was the one with that gift, not me," finished Leia as the lightsaber deactivated.

"A twin, was there not?"

"Yes," she trembled as both her hands gripped the weapon.

"Another, there was. To a remote planet Luke was sent, to be kept safe from the Empire; away from the Force, away from his father. The other Skywalker lived in plain sight, too close for the Emperor to ever suspect," Yoda continued as he sat down on a tree stump and looked deep into Leia's eyes. "Very dangerous, the two of them together would be. Adopted, she was, by the greatest of parents."

"And powerful, has she become, to wield the Force already with no training. Finished what her brother started, she must, in order to save him, for the Empire must be destroyed," the creature replied, holding out his hand for her to hold. She tentatively reached forward and felt his claws lightly comb the skin of her hand. It was difficult to let go – but she wanted to understand this thing. "For a Jedi, you must become."

The Princess looked back at the creature, her eyes filled with wonder and confusion. "You – you must be mistaken. I was adopted, sure, but there's no way that I'm Luke's twin. That's absurd, t-that doesn't even make sense. We just – we just happen to be born on the same day. We can't be," retorted Leia as she walked around in circles, trying to make sense of his words. Her whole world and life were spinning around with her, as she retraced her steps as far back as she could.

"Mysterious ways, does the Force work."

"Then," she whispered, holding her hand close to her mouth and thought of that vision she saw take place; that piercing cry from Luke and the labored breathing from that man. Those final words that escaped her supposed-brother's lips and the man that stalked and pursued him – the brevity of that suddenly started to expand, and fill her very soul with worry. "But that would mean."

"Yes," Yoda stated with utmost certainty. "Your father, Darth Vader is."


	9. The Halls of Remembrance

"Why do you fear the Dark Side?"

The young Jedi sat in the back of the narrow vessel, his legs crossed as he stared at the weapon below. His father's lightsaber – the one crafted by the sleeker designs of the Sith instead of more rudimentary and humble aesthetic of the Jedi – held still in his remaining hand. He ran his thumb up and down the activation switch, remembering what it felt like to wield such a blade.

"I don't fear anything," boldly replied the son as crimson light shot out of the emitter. Darth Vader turned his head around and looked to his son curiously as the red haze drew in and around the cockpit. Luke's face was solemnly frozen as his eyes followed the outer edge of the hue into the blinding core within. This blade rendered him disabled; yet, once in his grasp, his own previous fear of it was cast aside.

"Or anyone."

Vader coughed (though his son suspected it was more of a light chuckle, to his chagrin) and turned his attention back to piloting. "You might be able to tell yourself that but convincing yourself of that will prove to be a much more difficult task," hissed his father, his voice trailing over the energized core. "You wear the goodness inside you directly on your sleeve. It is a weakness - this will fool no one."

"You don't know me."

"I _made_ you," a command that which hushed Luke instantly and brought his attention back to the blade. Now that he had met Anakin Skywalker, the youth was slightly disappointed that he never would know the true face of his father; there was little chance of ever discovering how similar the two looked, how much they shared physically. Vader was just a shell of that man – little left to salvage or find – though a remnant of that man nonetheless.

"Must you be so open with your thoughts?" grumbled his father.

Luke was taken aback and nodded at Vader, deactivating his father's lightsaber and slumping back into his seat. "I'm sorry, father," he stated sheepishly, tossing the weapon into the air above. Holding out the stump of his right arm and with the concentration of an upturned brow, the lightsaber firmly levitated and gracefully flew to the side of Vader. The man remained silent but Luke beamed at the ease of his powers. Their weeks of grueling training shaped them not only as father and son, but as comrades-in-arms.

It was difficult, at first. Vader was relentless with the duties and training he forced upon his son, blaster deflection sessions lasting for hours and meditation periods almost lasting an entire day. He laughed when he thought of the young man who complained to Yoda – how different he had become. Though forced in his position, Luke felt as if he were finding himself in the skeleton that made up his father.

"We are approaching our destination."

Outside the window of the cockpit, a large moon took up the entire space. Murky oceans and cloudy spirals decorated the atmosphere, though readings confirmed that there were low life forms lurking. "Now that we are almost there, do you think you can tell me where we are at?"

Darth Vader shook his head: "no."

"You still don't trust me?"

"This has little to do with trust – though I am wary of your skills in shielding your thoughts," which caused Luke to roll his eyes and frown. "This is a location long forgotten to time, a place overrun by the souls of the dead and the monsters that claimed them. It will work as a suitable test towards your abilities while we wait till the station is operational."

"Operational?"

"Resources are not limitless, young one; the station is self-sustainable but it cannot last forever without a breather. It must clean itself, remove any waste, recycle and decompress the air, and prepare to start over. During that time, I decided that we should venture to this planet and see your strength," the man stated as he prepped the ship for landing. "As well as a chance for you to see mine."

Luke looked to his injured arm and rubbed it thoughtfully, remembering what he assumed to be the full power of his father. The pain had long since faded and scarred tissue covered the remnants – but the memory remained. "I think I've seen enough of your strength," he darkly joked as he slung on his jacket.

Vader wasn't amused.

"You only saw but a glimpse of my true power," Darth Vader stated with the utmost seriousness, unfastening himself from his seat and heading over to his son. "I've crushed men far bigger than you, beasts that could break you in seconds, slayed Jedi Knights with more training than you'll ever achieve in your lifetime. Underestimating your enemies – and your allies – will be your undoing. Do not forget, my son, that while you may be powerful, you are still _weak_."

With that, Vader stormed out of the cockpit and left Luke alone. "We'll see about that," whispered the youth as he grinded his teeth, squinting to make out the thundering waves and the deadened sky ahead outside. Though he was without a lightsaber, Luke was confident in the training he'd endured and ready to prove himself in the eyes of his father. He scooped up a pull-out blaster and hoisted it to his belt.

He made his way out of the vessel and followed the hulking steps of Vader into a narrow hallway. The walls nearby were completely translucent, exposing swarming water that bent and devoured. Faint lighting activated with every step of the two men as they continued, Vader storming through with ease while Luke trailed behind in wonder and trepidation.

"This was an old Imperial facility from a long time ago."

Luke followed his father and eyed the remnants of scorched blaster-fire etched into the floor, haphazardly crossed with large claw marks. "I take it this wasn't exactly a happy ending," he remarked as he knelt down, feeling in between the grooves of the mauled floor.

"That would be correct," Vader stated as he walked to the end of the hall. The closing wall opened up as he approached, revealing an elevator for the two men. "There was an unfortunate mix-up that cost a great deal of time, credits, and lives. Beasts from the Outer Rim were mistakenly transported here by a fool and more fools allowed them into the facility – it was an utter disaster."

The door shut behind them and the elevator instantly began going down.

"What happened to the men and women stationed here?"

"Hopefully a quick death."

Luke gulped as the elevator continued to descent, carefully eyeing his father from the corner of his eye. "I thought you weren't afraid of anything?" the man goaded towards his son, causing Luke to turn red in embarrassment, ever so aware of his crude limitations compared to the titan that towered over him.

"I'm not afraid," the Jedi whispered, though his voice wavered a bit in the declaration.

"You will be, my son."

Nothing but tattered tile and rusted metal awaited the two men as the elevator opened. Darth Vader walked forward and motioned for his son to follow. Just as he stepped out, a foul stench swept into Luke's nostrils, forcing him to plug his nose with his hand and cover his mouth with his right arm. He wanted to wretch at the smell, falling down to his knees and gagging.

"Calm yourself," Vader commanded and walked forward, watching over his child like a stalking gargoyle. "Still your breathing – focus, concentrate. Find your deepest passions and hold to them, and the smell will pass. Don't struggle, relax. Control your environments and don't let the environment control you."

The noxious fumes made his eyes shrivel and water in response, the tongue drying up as well. Luke felt as if his senses were suddenly stripped away from his being and leaving behind an empty shell. Vader's words entered his ears but were blocked by the sudden choking of his throat.

"I can't," Luke struggled out of his rasping throat, his eyes rolling back. "Can't breathe."

"Concentrate."

His head was spinning but the Jedi closed his eyes and heeded the words of his father, delving deep into the vast expanses of his mind. "I'm calm," Luke repeated, holding in his breath and bringing his mind to a halt. "I'm calm," said the young man, dropping both arms from his face and pulling himself off from the ground. "I won't let it control me; I will control it."

"As well you should; what you smell is only part of what happened here. These creatures naturally develop toxins that would plague even the strongest individual – combine that with the smell of decomposing flesh and you are lucky to even still be conscious," Vader said as he raised his arm and rest it upon Luke's shoulder, lightly squeezing him. "You learned to calm yourself and embrace the power within; this is a skill that will prove useful. With the right amount of concentration and skill, the use of a mask won't even be necessary. Your first test was a success - I am proud of you."

Skywalker flinched at the phrase, wincing in shock at the ease that those words escaped Vader's lips.; almost as if he held them in his head all this time, looking for the first excuse to declare his pride. The youth smiled and shrugged his shoulder, pulling away from the touch. "I wouldn't even be conscious right now if it weren't for your guidance."

"You wouldn't even be living right now if it weren't for me," bellowed his father. Luke looked up to the mask and blinked, ever so curious of his choice of words. "All you must do is trust in me, Luke. There is nothing more than I want than to see you grow and continue to get strong," Vader paused, brushing his hand against Luke's hair. "Maybe someday, even stronger than me."

The sudden affection took Luke by surprise – and though he tried to contain it, in order to look firm and obedient, the boyish grin expressed on his lips showed his true feelings. "We'll see," he stated. Luke follower Vader deeper into the base, skeletons littering the floor as they continued to walk around – rotting flesh still attached to the bones.

"How long ago was this place abandoned?"

"Close to ten years," stated Vader as he knelt to the ground, carefully examining the skeleton. "However, this place has somewhat preserved them. I'm sure the beasts were quite happy about that, though they must be ravenous at this point; notice how little flesh remains. We must tread carefully, my son."

Both men stalked alongside the outer edges of walls, Vader to the left and Luke to the right. The young Jedi cradled the blaster in his hand, inspecting the black shadows and watchful of what sinister creatures lurked inside. He walked at the same pace as his father, careful to never stray too far from his stride. That was the lesson he learned from their duel many weeks ago – to observe rather than act. Blindly rushing in and caving towards his bloodlust only wrought chaos to himself and those around him.

Being here, walking side by side with Vader, was exhilarating to young Skywalker. There were so many rumors and fears of the Dark Side; rightfully so, too, Luke thought. He had felt the impure influences of that corruption before and how it fed his most basic desires, feasting upon his weaknesses and insecurities. But standing by his father made him feel whole; the fulfillment of his childhood wishes was fighting alongside him and cheering him on.

This darkness wasn't consuming – perhaps it wasn't darkness? Maybe, just maybe, the youth was slowly purging those thoughts from the shell of Vader and resurrecting the remnants of Anakin Skywalker. Whatever this was, it was filling and warm.

"Caution."

Luke turned to look at Vader and nodded, gripping his blaster tightly and crouching forward as the Sith Lord took the initiative and stalked further. Though the shadows blinded, orange eyes peered through the darkness two meters high and smiled at the two men; a dull roar consumed the passage as Vader stepped forward, with enough intensity to cause Luke to lose his footing.

Before Luke could even react, the red lightsaber came to life and lunged itself at the eyes ahead of them, instantly draining them of any life.

Darth Vader crept closer to the beast and wavered his blade over the corpse, revealing a massive frame supported by three large legs. Luke took a good look at the face of their prey and saw four golden eyes decorated above a wide encompassing smile of sharp jagged teeth; he shivered in disgust.

"As far as I know, there were only two."

"We're halfway there, then," replied Luke, blaster still clutched close to his breast.

"It has been some time but there should be a wounded one, if I am remembering correctly," stated Vader as he drew his blade over the slayed monster, looking for any signs of previous damage. "Though I do not believe it was this one. The beast we are looking for is surely in desperation. Reach out, my son; sense the presence of this creature."

"Sense him, got it," whispered Luke as he closed his eyes and drew his arms outward, his left hand clenching into a fist as his mind opened and searched the premises. Royal blue surrounded the world his mind concocted, blurring his vision into a haze. Search – the two familiar figures stood out in plain sight, the dead creature flickering grey next to them. There was so much echoes of pain and death in this chamber – it proved hard for Skywalker to fully concentrate.

"There's so much death."

"Do not fear death," Vader cautioned. "Embrace the terror and feel inside."

"Reach out – don't let the ghosts of a distant past control you. Remember: you control it," which caused Luke to tighten his brow in response and flex his arms. The many lingering memories, so rich in concentration, each desperately pleaded for him to hear their tale.

One was a father that was on the cusp of retiring – this mission was supposed to be his last before the great retirement and reunion with his family. How he wished to speak with them one last time, before his soul left this temple, the fire inside still ignited.

There was also a young woman that was a dedicated scientist and prodigy of her age: a fresh recruit. She worked diligently for the Empire in the hopes of paying off the medical debts of her mother, hoping to someday leave her career and spend the rest of her years caring for her – she was one of the first to die.

A little boy once played in this very hallway, still young enough to be stationed with his father, and Luke strangely felt as if he could sense that very presence in the hall. "Please destroy the monster," he heard cry from the metal. "It's so scary here and I just want to go home."

Luke bit down on his lip as he heard those words; stabbing himself with such raw intensity that blood began to slither down his chin. The voices were shouting at him and begging and pleading: some for revenge, some for clarity, and some for hope. They were just fragments of what once was but their cries still felt recent and urgent. "I can't help," he whimpered as a single tear glistened out of his closed eye. "But I will make things right for you," Luke promised, shutting out all the voices at once and instead probing for the thoughts of the living. The blue haze lifted as he focused, the walls becoming translucent, revealing the entire layout of the unit. Two chambers forward, a red blur pulsated, roaring silently.

"It's ahead," Luke heaved as he collapsed against the wall.

"I told you not to listen to them," Vader reprimanded as he grabbed his son and kept him from collapsing to the ground. "You aren't ready to hear the cries of the dead, especially in a place filled with such horror. They will consume you if you are not careful – do not call on them again."

His skin recoiled at the armor of his father – the cold stillness making him shiver.

"But you surpassed them and found clarity and discovered our target," nodded Vader, "so you must be congratulated."

After a few seconds to compose himself, Luke clung to the next of the Sith and pulled himself upright. The two men continued into the next chamber: Darth Vader firmly ahead and his son trailing behind. "The beast knows we are here," stated Vader, turning back to Luke. "We must be quick and precise; a desperate beast is a dangerous one."

With that, the door opened and a bellowing cry knocked the two men to the floor. Squinting from the unexpected pain, the young Jedi looked up at the creature before them. A large scar gashed from the top of the head and plunged downward, exposing part of the jaw. Luke brought up his blaster and shot directly at the open wound – directing the howling beast towards him. He fired again and again, aiming at the same spot, hoping for a lucky shot that would topple his foe.

The beast swung its head at Luke, throwing the blaster halfway around the room and slicing an open gash on his remaining hand. He scampered out of the way as the beast lunged down again, though this time with enough ferociousness to kill. From the side of his eye, he saw Darth Vader rise from the ground and lunge at the creature with the fire of his weapon.

Vader's lightsaber stabbed into the chest of the monster, revealing what Luke supposed to be green blood dribbling onto the floor. It howled in agony and brought its head down on Vader's hand, sending his lightsaber flying, while also smashing his hand and ripping apart two of his fingers – exposing exploding sparks and complex circuitry.

Two legs stomped on the arms of Darth Vader and pinned him to the ground. As the monstrosity opened its mouth and prepared to feed, the head was suddenly thrown back. Urgent gurgling shout out from the exposed mouth as the head shook violently – surely the work of Vader – though the legs clamped still on his father.

Through the side of his eye, Luke noted the blade of his father lying still on the ground only a few meters away. The creature was still – now was the time to act, though he wasn't sure he had enough time to run to the saber before his father's concentration ran out. He closed his eyes and raised his right arm and felt his mind reach for the weapon: it flew into the air, instantly activated, and sliced into the belly of the beast and carved upward to the skull. The remains of the beast collapsed as the lightsaber hovered above in resilience.

Luke called the lightsaber back to his hand and deactivated it, clipping it to his belt, and running toward his father. Vader struggled out of the clutches of the beast and stood still. "You're wounded," the Jedi cried as he grabbed his hand and stared in wonder at the wires that poked out of his hand where his fingers once were.

"I am unharmed," sharply exclaimed Vader, though he didn't dare remove his hand from Luke's touch. "I haven't had a real arm there for some time. I suppose it is my punishment for my own carelessness – as well as what I deserve for the pain I caused you," he said as the blood from Luke's wound spilled over onto his glove. "It seems you are wounded yourself."

The youth looked at his hand in shock, forgetting the fresh cut that ran up his palm.

"We stay here tonight," Darth Vader proclaimed, resting his hand generously on his son's right arm, stroking him with pride. "There should still be clean water for you to use: strip yourself, bathe, dress your wound and prepare to rest on this station for the evening. We claim this place as our own secondary home. You have learned much, my son; now _I_ wouldn't be here if it weren't for you."

The son smiled at his father, bringing up his arm and gently caressing the hand on his shoulder.


	10. Assemblage

Dull fire roared on the metallic floor as the younger man huddled around it for search of warmth. His father eyed the shivering son curiously as he shivered in the cold, a large tarp draped over his shoulders, trying to remember the chill of cold. "I did not realize how cold this facility could get at night," Vader stated awkwardly as he faced the faint fire. "My most sincere apologies."

He had always been cold – when he ended his former self, the summer sands of Anakin Skywalker were buried by an avalanche of snow. The blood in his veins were frozen and preserved, the faint oxygen that escaped his respirator chilled, the machine he had become no longer understood the hazards of the human condition.

"It's fine," Luke shivered as he gripped the edge of the tarp and tightened it around his neck. The youth scooted himself closer to the blaze and exhaled a large sigh of relief as his skin began to warm. "Living your entire life on a desert wasteland will make you sensitive to the cold like that, I suppose."

Desert wasteland: how much time had passed for Vader to forget that trash heap of a planet that tortured him so and claimed the remaining life of his mother? There would have been some point in his life where he experienced this same reaction as his son, though those memories were buried deep and compacted. He had no desire of opening them up either.

"I know desert wastelands all too well," he spat as he stood up, turning his back against the fumes. "It will do you well to forget that place as much as possible."

"That's right; you're originally from Tatooine too."

The name of that accursed place stopped Vader's breathing instantly and fired up the remnants of a blistered heart, one that is still wounded and scorched. Faint memories of grains of sand littering the joints and edges of his armor made the Sith Lord balk in disgust. "That was the tale of a different man with a story long forgotten," whispered the older man.

Luke stood from his place and let the tarp fall to the ground, walking over to stand by his father. "Anakin Skywalker or Darth Vader," stated the Jedi as he awkwardly hung his arm around Vader's back. "They both have the same past and history. They are both the identity of the man that created me. Tell me more about your life – I want to know you."

The small hand of the boy felt strange as it rubbed the armor of his suit, resembling the pawing of a fragile animal to his master. Many men would have been killed for attempting such intimacy – but not Luke Skywalker. "It isn't a tale worth telling," Vader stated in defeat. "Just a stupid boy that risked and lost it all and became the very thing he feared."

His wounded hand hung low to his side, carefully protected by the long draping of his cape. Luke caught a glimpse of it and lowered his hand from the back and cautiously held the hand with his own remaining one, kneading his fingers over the two stumps.

"Does it hurt?"

"No."

The torments of his still heart writhed in agony more than any physical wound – even the sudden shock and pain of losing three limbs at once and being set ablaze didn't compare to the hissing horrors that compromised his soul; how he wished he _could_ feel that pain once more.

"This hand was lost many years ago thanks to the foolishness of the man I once was. He has been defeated and replaced by a stronger man, one that can withstand any physical might. The powers of the Dark Side have granted me the strength I need to continue – to protect you."

There was sudden silence between the two men as Luke continued playing with his father's glove, noticing the drastic difference in size between their two hands. Luke's hand could only fill Vader's by about half and had a grip far sturdier.

"Tell me about your mother."

Vader froze and tightly yanked Luke's hand with his own, causing the youth to cry out. The Dark Lord remembered so much so suddenly – visions began to flood and drain themselves into his skull. That sweet woman that sacrificed her only world, him, was left to a life of misery and loneliness. He was grateful she found companionship but it didn't last: that man was weak. The Jedi could have freed her then and there and chose not to – it was their fault that she died a death so undeserving of such a great woman.

"I'm just asking," Luke wrenched as he tried to pry his hand away from the grip, "because Uncle Owen always talked about how great she was."

He released his son's hand and stood still with his back turned, arms folded; the mask that ordinarily disguised his true emotions plainly revealing the hurt etched inside. "She was the greatest individual I ever knew," Vader replied. "She worked hard and gave her all for her son. He was an ungrateful child for all the efforts she spent to help him all those years – he only realized this as they were disconnected and torn off from each other."

"In some ways, you remind me of her."

Luke smiled sheepishly and sat himself down on the floor, absentmindedly rubbing his still-aching hand. The boy hadn't suffered as she had but the kindness in his eyes twinkled a familiar gaze that reminded him of home… and also reminded him of fear. "Unfortunately, her greatness could not protect her from the actions of scum," he spat. "She died in the worst possible manner. I – He couldn't protect his own mother, who had given so much before."

That last smile of hers throbbed in his heart; the image of a woman who endeared the worst torture could find the strength to smile one last time as she was held in the arms of her son. How he failed her that night; that death changed everything about him.

It still hurt with the intensity of thousands of daggers piercing the skin at once.

"This is enough talk."

Vader swung back the veil of his cape and revealed a medium-sized pouch clipped to his waist, snapping it off and tossing it right into the hand of his son. "There is still work to be done and the past will remain the past," said the Sith Lord as he motioned to Luke. "We must focus on the present. Inside, you will find the parts necessary to build a lightsaber. I believe you've proven yourself worthy of wielding such a weapon once more."

His son was eager to open the pouch and hastily began taking the parts out of it.

"Be warned, my son, that this is not an activity that can be done with laziness. You must be attentive and focused as you construct a lightsaber – anything else will lead to your untimely demise. One was granted to you in the past but you weren't worthy to claim it yet. Understanding the inner workings of the blade will increase your skills as a duelist twofold."

"This lightsaber will be your life," Vader said before almost choking on himself as he recalled the last time he heard those words. He grumbled a bit to himself before carrying on. "You've grown strong with the Force and have the skills necessary for desperate survival. All that is needed for a graduating student is the weapon he was made to bear."

Luke dug out the key ingredient towards the foundation of a lightsaber – the crystal. The translucent gem shone a great energy of light that swam amongst his cupped hand. His eyes sparkled as he raised the gem into the air, entranced completely by the purity of the crystal.

"The crystal is the lifeline of a lightsaber," stated Vader as he lifted the gem out of Luke's hand and into the air. "It is a beauty to behold but one can never be too careful when dealing with such raw power. Do not assume your own domination against it, no matter how small and yielding it may seem, young one. Practice and come to me when you have succeeded. Failure is not an option."

The crystal delicately fell back into Luke's palm and Vader marched forward on his own.

* * *

"I can do this," Luke told himself as he maneuvered the many different objects with his hand and using the Force as a substitute for his missing one. All the parts before him were practically identical to the blade he once kept snug at his waist; it was comforting but also a gruesome reminder of what he had lost and how far he had come.

"Think, Luke, think."

The lightsaber was always by his side during those years but upon recollection, he never once thought about dismantling the weapon and viewing the constructs within. It was just a relic – an heirloom meant to be held but never to be tinkered with. Now, as he awkwardly and curiously fumbled his way around the parts, he wished he had taken the time to examine it. "These have to go here," he recalled as he set up the exterior of the lightsaber. The glimmering crystal kept distracting him from his concentration, sat aside to his right, frustrating the young Jedi.

 _Do or do not, there is no try._

These harsh words from his former master clung to the walls of Luke's head and bristled their way out into his ears: this was a test that would truly prove his worth as a warrior, as a Jedi. That title had been stripped from him when he lost his previous saber – but he was determined to earn it once more. Even if his father was Darth Vader, the youth was going to make the Jedi that remained inside that armored shell proud. Somewhere, deep down, there was still good in that man even if he was reluctant to show it – there was compassion and love somewhere inside.

"I have to do this."

Trust in the Force – that was what he was going to have to do; allow it to hone and shape his instincts and lead him into a path of success. Closing his eyes and letting out a deep exhale, Luke extended out his arms and attempted to construct the weapon.

"For my father."

Those voices from before threw themselves his way as his mind opened: several thanking him for saving their souls, others pleading for salvation, many finally moving on and freeing themselves from this restless chamber. "Calm yourself," Luke whispered as his eyelids tightened and his brow twisted up in exertion, sweat swimming under his hair and sliding down his cheeks. Those cries soon began to drown out into silence, echoing for several seconds, then two seconds, then one, then silence. They were purged from his head.

His left hand motioned for the hilt to rise as his right arm brought up the connecting pieces. Slowly but surely, the parts began to slide together and connect as one. The first time, the exterior of the blade molded perfectly but the innards zapped and refused to respond.

As he finished his second attempt, the youth sensed a mistake on the outside this time – the emitter was too loose and the activator glued on backwards. Luke grumbled in frustration as he opened his eyes, the lightsaber falling straight to the floor, the pieces unfixed and falling apart once more. "This is getting me nowhere," he pouted as he tossed himself back and lay still on the ground. Concentrate – listen – feel.

"Do, Luke, don't try."

The fledgling Jedi closed his eyes one final time as he submitted himself to the will of the Force, raising his arms into the air and controlling his breathing to be steady. The parts appeared so clearly in his head – he felt them lift into the air and attempted to not think this time. Instead, he allowed the Force to work through him as a conduit, begging it to make the choices this go around.

Inner pieces began snapping into place as he lay motionless on the ground, completely submitting himself to the will of the Force. The parts clicked and the pulsating crystal rose from the air, delicately sliding its way into the core of the blade, as the exterior gathered in formation around it like a protective cocoon. The weapon hovered in the air in stillness as Luke opened his eyes.

It flew gently into his grasp – he sensed his potential success as warm energy coursed from the blade and into the blood and veins in his hand. Gulping in anxiousness, Luke wavered his finger over the activator and pressed the weight of his thumb against it. Cyan light shot out the lightsaber with his touch – the buzzing core rattling in perfect harmony.

"I did this," Luke smiled in awe and disbelief as he held his weapon high into the air. The lightsaber looked ever so familiar to his previous but with slight modifications; the hilt was smaller and the grip less firm, buttons in different locations than they were before. But this was something Luke would easily adapt and get used to. "This is my very own lightsaber."

"At last, I can call myself a Jedi Knight with pride."

Skywalker swung the blade eagerly into the air, beaming at the familiar humming that gave his life purpose. He deactivated the weapon and clipped it at the once-empty clip on his waist, running forth to find his father and reveal his success.

* * *

Luke swung his newly constructed sword at his father, dicing up and down with a newfound lightness and ease that he'd never experienced before. "I can't explain it," the youth cried out in disbelief as he met his weapon against his father's scarlet core. The two blades grinded next to each other, jutting out lashing sparks into the distance between them. "It's like it is weightless."

"Not so much that is weightless," stated Vader as he swiped the lightsaber up into the air and lunged forward for his own attack. His son barely parried in time but struck back with enough force to knock him back and create space between the two. "Rather, that old blade you carried was burdened by the weight of the horrors it endured – a burden you longer need to hold."

The Sith Lord was proud of his son's skills with the Force – for one with such meager training, he had adapted it and grew in power that matched even some trained Jedi. On the other hand, he wasn't too thrilled with Luke's abilities as a swordsman but there was only so much practice that could make up for a decade of wasted time. He kept finding openings and pasted technique that didn't match his form whenever he went on the offensive; it was frustrating but his son made up for these weaknesses in his defensive form.

"You fight better with your left hand in one day than you did with years with your right."

Vader brought down his red lightsaber and felt it quickly get caught by Luke's blue lightsaber. The grinding of the dueling swords filled the air with unpleasant hissing as sparks continued to fly out, scorching the ground beneath them. "Well, I am naturally left handed," he stated aloud as he pushed back Vader's weapon. "This is just how I was taught to fight."

"Though I guess I'm only left-handed now," joked Luke darkly as he turned his attention to his arm.

His concentration taken off of the duel gave an opening for his father to strike, driving his own blade underneath Luke's and twisting it out of his hand, sending the saber flying to the other side of the room. Defenseless and completely blind sighted by the move, Luke froze as Vader brought his heel to his stomach and kicked him straight to the floor.

"I make one comment and you use that as an opportunity to knock my ass to the ground," Luke swore in frustration as he clutched his stomach in a grimace. Though a shirt protected his modesty underneath, it didn't protect his skin from the bruise that would surely form.

"That wasn't fair."

"A lightsaber duel isn't fair," spoke Vader as the red lightsaber deactivated in his's hand. "You must prepare for the unexpected; never let your guard down while your weapon is activated. That sword is the only thing you have to protect yourself from immediate harm – lose it and you have already lost. Anyone or anything can attempt to disarm you and it is your job to protect yourself. I think that is enough training for the evening."

Vader lowered his hand and invited his son to hold to him for support, with which Luke happily obliged, hoisting him up and walking back to the fire pit. The father couldn't help but notice the sweet smile on his son's lips as he sat close to the fire – how proud he must have felt of himself. His mop of hair shagged out as the sweat dried off by the intensity of the flames, reminding himself of the long and free hair that once adorned his good looks.

He was once like this – so proud and sure of himself and his skills, unaware of the how beautiful he must have appeared to those around him. At one point, people truly did love him before he became a monster; a murderous beast that killed and plundered to shield himself from his ravenous conscience.

When he looked to his son, Vader saw more than just an arrogant display of his past self. Qualities of the woman he loved were so plainly evident in him; how pleased she would have been to see her son become so successful and talented. There was another timeline where the two of them would have lived together, becoming the full-time parents they both longed for. Luke would have never had to be stranded in that wasteland desert; he would have been given the best opportunities and the greatest love and adoration a child could receive.

Things were different in the real world – obstacles still needed to be overcome. The two men were bonding but there was never any hope for Luke to truly forgive his past, let alone the things he did to his friends. This was why he embraced villainy and terror; to protect himself from the conscience that eroded his shell and revealed the deplorable character underneath. That was also why he could never tell the youth about what a pathetic figure he truly was.

Darth Vader was strong and firm. Anakin Skywalker was a young fool that was led astray and committed acts based on lies and treachery by a scheming charlatan. It was an embarrassment to admit and it was not one that he was ready to speak of yet.

The child needn't know the tragedy of Anakin Skywalker – but there was another tale worth telling.

"I wish to tell you about your mother."


	11. Light Within Darkness

Over a week had passed.

It was not an easy thing for someone like Leia to get adjusted to.

Leia wondered how she appeared with that lightsaber in her hand. Ridiculous, surely, as if she were a child brandishing a toy far beyond her capabilities. The blade stuck to her hand, begging her to follow the wishes of some swirling force, though she feared to completely give in to the demand. It bothered her to let go like that. That was never one of her assets; she held grudges, she could be distrustful, and always knew to watch her back (while facing forward) for the enemy. Passivity was not her friend. Plus, this was all so new – not so long ago, Leia Organa was just another member of the Alliance. She was an important one, for sure, but still nothing more than a glorified diplomat and soldier.

Now? Leia was training herself towards the arts of the Jedi, a respected but ancient form of mysticism she never once thought she was capable of. It was something that she always suspected as truth, sure, and The Force was something that kept clinging and hopeful towards the future. But when it came to her own skills and her own teeming knowledge of it? Doubt – Yoda kept shouting at her to relinquish her fear. He wanted her to give up all that had driven her the past five or six years of her life, the channel that allowed her to push through the worst. How Leia wished she could just blink and let it all flood out, never to enter her brain again, purifying the gate to her soul. It was not that easy. For the young Princess, it was frustrating, annoying, and something she did not feel possible. It wasn't a surprise to her that Luke left his training if he underwent something equally as demanding.

Maybe it wasn't always going to be this difficult. Time was what she needed but time was also running out for her dear friend – her brother – and that was constantly running through her head. Little self-doubts about what she could and couldn't accomplish, nagging voices that kept comparing her to the great warrior Luke had become over those three years. Leia barely knew any Jedi but Luke was the best damn one she could think of and the image of him was both inspiring and haunting.

She reminded herself of how clumsy Luke appeared at first, dancing and waving it around like a wand, totally untrained in swordplay for the first year or so. Han would crack lewd jokes about how he was always "practicing with his saber" instead of paling around with the rest of the Squadron and the Alliance. She laughed but Leia always took time out of her week to watch him. It was endearing to her, as well as inspiring; even moreso once he started developing his skill and owning his confidence. The little boy she had met had slowly developed into a man with each passing week, becoming stronger in his convections and passionate in what good he may cause; a man that she respected and trusted with her life. There weren't too many men like that left, "nice men," as she referred. It pleased her to know that that goodness was still a part of her by blood. She missed him – she missed Luke.

That was never going to be Leia Organa.

But she still had to try – Luke's life potentially lay in the balance and she would be damned if she would just let him be corrupted, or worse, destroyed. So much could have happened to him in the time that had passed; Yoda spoke of his pulse throughout the Force, though it was weakened and deafened. Was he still in pain? Was he dying? Was his very innocent soul being crushed and tormented by those dark arts that the Sith wield? "Darkness," Leia whispered to herself. The Dark Side, as Yoda warned, was very real. Her brother never really spoke much about it (Luke was a much purer being than she, so Leia thought) but it was something that she sensed, felt, and touched. There were glimpses of it everywhere. When she looked to the trees, she felt the shadow of her brother's anger and frustration looming underneath the branches. His frantic breathing from over a month ago still felt fresh in the air, as well as his lightsaber clashing against the red hue of a mirage. In the murky depths of the swamp, she sensed the death of many creatures as they sunk to the bottom, hearing their final cries of despair and sorrow. Even the grass and mud, with all the teeming life of insects and small beasts, acted upon war and bloodshed. There was darkness everywhere – and she sensed it passionately.

Not to mention the darkness within her own bleeding soul.

"Vader," she hissed, slicing her lightsaber clear into the air and swiping a vine in two. There was a clear image in her head as the blade swooped back to her side of a villain being toppled, bisected, his anguished cries not even scratching the surface of the continued moaning of Alderaan. Parts of her yearned for revenge, wanting to learn more of weaponry and hatred. Her mentor watched her with widened eyes, staring curiously as she deactivated the weapon, shocked at the sudden impulse of rage.

The young Princess sensed a potential mirror image forming as these dark thoughts filled within her head. These weren't good thoughts – they weren't thoughts that anyone, or anything, should be having. She closed her eyes and tried to stare plainly into the face of her reflection and saw the terrifying mask of a man she despised staring back at her. Leia gasped and shook her head furiously.

"I can't do this," Leia state firmly. The lightsaber was quickly deactivated and clipped to her belt. Her hands went to her face and clawed carefully at the skin, digging futilely in an attempt to tear out that demon inside her. What Yoda said previously still rocked her to her core, exposing weaknesses and sore spots she wished she had never uncovered. The demon came from Vader – just like herself. What if this darkness began to consume her, just as it had Vader? What if embracing the Force would lead to her own path of destruction, slowly twisting and contorting her soul until it was nothing left?

Darth Vader would never be her father; that was Bail Organa. The kindly man that taught her of survival, of diplomacy, of wisdom. That was how she wished to see herself. Maybe it was a blind and surface read but the alternative? She was born of Vader – that was the most troubling of it all. No matter how hard she wished to deny it, there would always be a bit of the monster within. Not just her, but her newfound brother, Luke, too. Maybe now was the time to let go of it, instead of embracing it. Leia collapsed to ground and let herself bake in with the mud.

"A lifetime of pain, you have," Yoda spoke quietly as he hobbled off his stump, walking slowly to Leia. "Unfortunate what you have endured. The destruction of a planet, losing a family, gaining a new one, you have. An easy life, it is not. Great things, you have accomplished, hm? A talented Jedi you may be. For years, I have watched you. Impressive. Talented."

"Yoda," Leia stated, staring dimly up at the overhanging trees above. "Master Yoda, I mean. This is all so much to take in – I appreciate all you have to offer – but I-"

"Fear?"

She sat up from her seat in the mud, nodding slowly as her lips trembled. "You tell me to let go, to let the Force direct me away from these things, but I've been a part of these things for so long. They are what has let me endure whatever pain has come my way. I've lost my family, I've lost my friends, I've lost my entire purpose as Princess. The Dark Side, as you call it, has been something I've unknowingly relied on for years now, I fear, just to get through every day."

"A difficult process, I fear," Yoda said, shaking his head. "But get through this, you can, you must."

"I'm not like Luke – like my brother," she stated, the words still felt strange to speak aloud. "I know how to be kind, and I know how to be good, and-and I am good, but I struggle to let go of what I hate and fear. I shouldn't be feeling these things."

"Release them, you will, in time."

"How do you know I won't end up like – _him_?"

Yoda squinted and brought himself close to her, setting his claws gently against her cheek. The stern look of an esteemed master softened to the gaze of a friend, wishing to help. "This," he said, tapping at her sternum with his other hand. "The light is there. Shines deep within you, it does. It guides you, directs you, leads you to the right path, it will. The Force calls to you. Welcomes you, it does. Overcome these obstacles, you will. Worse hurdles you have faced, hm?"

She smiled at his kindness and looked back to her saber. This little weapon had quite the journey – once upon a time, it had belonged to a man named Anakin Skywalker. It was a name scrubbed from history but one she recalled (at least the Anakin part) from stories shared by her father. Then, it had been passed off to a young farmer that was in way over his head. Just a boy, really, but one who went on to do great and incredible things. Leia reached for the lightsaber and held it firm. The image of Luke's severed hand grasping the weapon came back to her mind, still sending shivers down her spine – it made her heart bleed, knowing he was in pain. She hoped that her brother was safe and fine; he always managed to survive, somehow.

It was worth the risk, perhaps? Despite her own fears and hesitations, Leia knew that there was one thing that she could always rely on setting her back to the right path. Her love for goodness, for righteousness, for the family she lost on Alderaan, for the family she gained in Luke, and for Han. Someone had to protect those things – and with Luke missing, that meant she had to be next best thing. Responsibility ran through her blood just as the living Force willed itself in her being. She couldn't refuse such a call to action; she never had in the past, and she never would in the future.

Her head suddenly began to clear. Leia brought her other hand to the lightsaber and clasped it warmly, ready to bear that responsibility that came with such a weapon. It felt warm to the touch instead of the unbearably freezing cold it usually kept. Natural, familiar. Suddenly, there was an abrupt jolt – space and time around her began to shrink and expand, zooming forward into a dark space lit only by a blurry haze of fire at the center, two men speaking to each other in distorted tones.

One was a cold gargantuan being garbed in a black haze, but the other was warm, kind and positive sensations that flooded her senses quickly. This had to be Luke – he was there, wherever there was, and she felt as if he were smiling. Leia called out to him. The man didn't respond, but the birth of a lightsaber erupting from his hand was enough to prove who he was to her. "Luke," she called out one final time, as the space around her began to distort heavily. Before this – vision? – started to collapse, she thought she saw her brother turn his head to face her.

But the sudden vision was over, and the darkness was gone, replaced by murky dirt and dull green.

"A vision," Leia stated, collapsing to her knees.

"Your brother still lives. Felt him through you, I did, and sense goodness still within him. Safe, currently, is Luke."

That made Leia smile, staring up into the clouded sky above through twisted limbs and brush. She could barely make out his face but she definitely knew that that was her brother – and that he was safe. Injured, possibly, but he was in good spirits and safe from the darkness. He found light. Leia nodded as it started to all make sense, a way she could always direct herself in times when led astray. Wherever there is darkness, there is always another source of light. She directed her attention back to Yoda, who looked to her curiously.

"Once asked your brother why he wished to become a Jedi, I did. To honor his father, he said. Ask you the same, I will."

"Because of my brother," Leia nodded. "And because I want to do good."


	12. The Deadliest Dance

Luke slept soundly on the makeshift bed just above the metal floor, a wool blanket wrapped tight around his bare chest. The mixture of warm, damp air bled into freezing alloy, causing quite an uncomfortable stir for anyone unable to shut out such irritating conditions. However, his mind was racing with thoughts and feelings that left him restless – truths that had been whispered carefully to him by his father.

There was a mother. Well, of course, that was only natural but he never learned much about the woman. Owen and Beru would only tell him about his father, and even then, very little. Now, however, he learned that his mother was someone of great importance. She was a figure whose face he could recall, vague images of her passed around in documents and stories woven around the Rebellion. Luke didn't share this with Vader but Amidala was idolized for her staunch fight against tyranny and injustice.

Though his eyes were closed, he could very distinctly see that face. The smile immortalized by those he had befriended, offering support to any and all that needed her guidance. Maybe, he thought, she always trying to smile back at him. There was a resemblance in that smile, particularly from his younger days, where had had this enormously toothy grin. That was her son – that was his mother.

His mother was a great leader, royalty at a time, a senator, and one of the co-founders of the Rebel Alliance. To think, Luke Skywalker, bullied farmboy was the son of two of the most important people in the galaxy.. it simultaneously gave him a great sense of importance and a grave realization of how important he suddenly had become overnight. Would she be proud of him? Her boy, unknowingly following her same path, fighting for good? There was another fight the two probably shared. Through the memory of her, perhaps there was a chance of reminding Darth Vader of his humanity. Perhaps, with enough poking and prodding, his physical self and her spiritual reminder could peel off his shell and reveal the remains of Anakin Skywalker underneath.

Who was Anakin?

That was a question that Luke thought of frequently. He wondered how much of Vader was totally his father, and how much of his father was Darth Vader. They were the same – true – and he would be delusional to think otherwise. But surely not all parts of his father were so corruptible. Something had to be salvageable, something that he could reach and revive.

If there was one thing Luke was sure of, it was a sense that his father truly did love him. The way that Vader spoke about his mother, too, made him think he felt the same way for her. Darth Vader was not a total monster – he still felt love, he still cared. It just buried so deep.

"Mother," Luke whimpered out from his sleep. "I think we can save him."

The fledgling Jedi turned around as his eyes slid open, staring back into the dark shadows of the room. The room appeared a bit darker than it normally had, though the young Skywalker assumed this was just the effects of night. He needn't worry – after all, his father slept not that much further away than himself, in a separate chamber, where his suit would be de and depressurized, providing him with the necessary facilities to remain living. Luke hated that his father had to go through that. It was a stark reminder of the torment his father endured – and it stung whenever he reminded himself that he may never see the true face of his father.

But there was still hope, there was still –

Just then, a sudden movement appeared from the corner of his eye. Skywalker suddenly sensed life enter the room, more than just his own, and it didn't feel the most warm. He sat up from his spot and peered around, clipping his lightsaber back to his belt. Little sounds flickered in and out of the room, like rodents scavenging and planning to seize their meal. Something was different about the room; or, perhaps, someone?

"Whoever you are, I know you are there. Speak."

The sounds suddenly stopped – no movement could be sensed in this particular shadow. Luke walked around in a circle searching through the nooks of night, trying to find whatever it was that he sensed. Before he had the chance to activate his lightsaber, he felt a figure reveal itself presently.

"Luke Skywalker, Commander of the terrorist organization known as the Rebel Alliance," shouted a voice through the air. The room around him was totally silent, as well as pitch black save for the blue depths of the ocean that glimmered through the walls, but he couldn't help but sense it was more crowded than it let on. "We are here to orchestrate your arrest on the order of Emperor Palpatine. Charges include treason, destruction of property, mass murder, espionage, and inciting rebellion. Do not resist – the Emperor will give you one chance to speak for your treasonous actions, including the potential of a total pardon. Resist still, and you will be sentenced automatically to death."

"How kind of your Emperor," Luke muttered under his breath, carefully reaching for his lightsaber. Somehow, Luke believed the offer to be genuine. Sinister, and a pact made only with evil, but true. Perhaps the Emperor would pardon him, maybe even absolve his friends of their "crimes," should he offer himself up. But that wasn't worth selling his soul – nor was it worth giving up on their cause.

"He is your Emperor as well, rebel scum, with an offer you do not deserve considering your crimes," huffed the voice. He could sense it – oh, it was so close. Trailing somewhere among the shadows, the breath of the trooper so near that he could almost feel the heat behind his shoulder. "This is your final warning. Disarm yourself or accept your execution."

"I'm afraid the Emperor won't be pleased," stated Luke with utter defiance. He closed his eyes and activated the lightsaber, the elegant fire illuminating the room, and revealing the position of a Stormtrooper haunting in an alcove above. Before the man had time to respond, the Jedi threw his blade into the air and saw the weapon stab into the threat above. Luke didn't remember that balcony being there before… but as he made his first move, before he could think on it more, smoke suddenly began to fill the air and bring blistering tears to Skywalker's eyes.

"Meet your death!" shouted a voice from behind, blaster fire firing his way. Luke's lightsaber flew back into his hand on time, deflecting the shot and sending it flying back at the weapon that fired it. His loud groan was covered quickly by the sends of footsteps charging into the room, blocking the exit, and staying protected by the burning mist of smoke that surrounded them.

He could sense footsteps dashing his way, men armed with melee weapons, ready to stab.

Luke instinctively raised out his lightsaber with his left hand, swiping through the rush of Stormtroopers, the sound of severed limbs splashing against the floor and the anguished cries of their owner were met with each touch of the weapon. Blaster fire surrounded the youth as he dodged carefully, maneuvering around with tact as blinding lights and subsequent explosions filled the room and blackened the walls. Men swept around him at all sides, their roar of fire proving endless. One of the men he attacked with his lightsaber lay at his feet, a quarter of his mask sliced off, revealing a deadened blue eye staring back.

"For the Emperor," some cried out. "For the Empire," others carried. Luke often wondered why these men and women chose to fight – what was it about this insidious government that inspired such zeal? The dead figure that stood before him couldn't have been much older than himself. But, Luke reminded himself, this very easily could have been his own fate. He remembered his desperation to leave Tatooine, his own cry for freedom. Had he not ran into those droids, he very likely would have joined the Academy. The Jedi, under different circumstances, could have been just as cruelly struck down.

But he couldn't stop fighting; to do so spelled certain death, blaster fire exploding from all directions onto his body until he was little more than molten flesh. Perhaps it was best to not feel, then? Not to think? Distractions, they proved to be, but could he really separate his own humanity from his flowering soul so casually? The waves of round after round whizzed by him, barely meeting the blade of his weapon.. he would have to. These Stormtroopers were more than just the one individual; they were people that stood against his very life. Luke _would_ win.

There was no place left to go – Luke would have to fully trust in The Force.

A few months prior, this would have meant certain death for the young Jedi but after all the training he went through the past half year, it felt like a natural and welcomed challenge. He closed his eyes and shut out the sounds that pervaded the room. Closed his senses to become still, only noting the beating life-force of his heart. His pulse slowed as he breathed in, slower still as he breathed out, until it almost felt as if time itself had frozen to a standstill. He opened his eyes – or, at least, he thought he opened them – and saw nothing but colors and shadows.

Luke looked down to his right arm and saw nothing but gleaming cyan; his skin was gone and replaced by this wondrous haze of phantasmagoria. The soldiers that stalked him were red husks, scarlet fragilities waiting for his next move. The youth smiled as he raised his right arm, directing the mangled end of his arm toward them and pushing out, seeking to break them. An eruption of energy shot out of his stump, forcing Luke to shake around and fall back to the ground. The troopers were lifted into the air and splattered all across the room, weaponry and armor flying around with them.

It was a feeling of total power that Luke had never harnessed before. It was a skill that seemed so beyond him, as if his entire being willed itself as a conduit to The Force. It was both a welcome feeling and a harrowing one – to give up oneself, and to have such deadly power be conducted.

His eyes opened and his vision returned to normal. His skin was back and so were the white armor of over two dozen Stormtroopers and their missing parts, huddled all around the walls of the room, lying motionless and still. Luke felt a sudden sting – he looked down to his right arm and noticed the end of it to be bright pink, enflamed and swollen. The sting started to get sharper and more intense the longer he waited. Luke fell to his knees and cried out, gripping it with his left hand.

"You summoned The Force."

The world around him darkened, the light flickering out slowly and unraveling into a large shadow. He was still there – it was similar to what he had just explained but different. There was nothing inside this hollow room but pain, sorrow, and greed. It was suffocating and all consuming. "You are injured, Jedi," a voice whispered out from the abyss. A scarlet figured emerged from the walls, molding itself slowly and cautiously as it stalked the youth. "Following your foolish father has led you down such a destructive path, young one."

"Through the powers of The Force, I can make you whole again," the figure whispered. Luke rubbed his arm and stared at the being. The red phantom lifted his arm and pointed at the youth, closing his hand into an all-powerful fist. Luke cried out as his right arm began to shake, violently exploding pain shooting through his forearm as it raised itself into the air. He felt his whole self begin to lift into the air, following his arm, staring in horror at his throbbing arm.

Out of the torn and mangled flesh, a tiny fragment began to bleed its way out of the stump. The Jedi writhed in agony as he felt his body being ripped apart in two, watching in horror as a solid line of matter exposed itself from his arm. It kept stretching out, ripping and pulling alongside muscle and bone, until the pain finally stopped. He collapsed to the floor and watched curiously as the shape of a hand began to reform around his forearm.

"My most sincere apologies about the pain, I am afraid that it is quite necessary in order to regrow life that has been lost. It is only a fair trade, after all. However, please be aware that this is only temporary, my young Jedi friend. Only a sign of what you might gain," the figure stated, its final form beginning to take shape as it approached Luke. The red matter around the phantom began to morph, decorating the mold of a human body in the form of cloak, peeling and twisting until all color was devoid. There wasn't a face underneath that cloak but bloodied and golden hues floated in the void underneath.

"I see so much wonderful potential within you. You could be great."

"Who are you?" Luke called out, his attention torn between the mysterious apparition and the slow return of his right hand, flexing his fingers with care.

"I see why your father is suddenly so taken with you. Really, young Skywalker, I am quite pleased with the way you took care of my Stormtroopers. I've always known that Lord Vader wanted to do something quite similar but he never seemed to have the stomach for it," the cloaked man stated, carelessly kicking over the corpses of soldiers. "No, his treachery has always been more sinister and quiet. Not what I ever expected from your father, considering how often he preferred to be a mindless brute."

"Palpatine."

"Ah, yes. You seem to be quite a bit more wise than your father proved," the Emperor said devilishly as he made his way to Luke. "If a bit diminutive and lacking at such an older age. Unlike the Jedi, however, I have always been under the belief that anyone can learn The Force at any time. Such.. restrictions.. always seemed so foolish. They were always holding themselves back."

"You won't get away with what you've done to everyone, your highness," Luke replied coolly. He sensed the pain that this man had made his father endure – learned the story of his deception. The Dark Side was strong in this being, even more than Darth Vader had the first time they faced. The boy wasn't even sure if this was reality or a battle forming inside his head, but he knew he would fight for the honor of his father and his friends. Luke held his lightsaber with both of his hands and activated it. The Emperor let out of a roar of laughter in response.

"So soon? You haven't even given me the chance to speak."

Luke found himself locked in place as his throat began to tighten, his windpipe suddenly blocked and deteriorating by the second. The lightsaber fell to the floor, his hands wrapped around his neck, desperately pleading for air to return. Palpatine knelt down and reached for the weapon, marveling at it with awe and incredulity – his eyes turned to Luke, watching in delight as he struggled on the floor.

"I must admit, you have done good work with the lightsaber. The hatred you feel for me right now, oh, I can just feel it oozing around. You really do hate me, it is so wonderful to feel. Good – embrace that hated," rotating his hand slowly and releasing Luke from his grasp. "Do I detect some fear within you as well, young Skywalker? You should – rise, boy, I wish to see what skills you possess." The Emperor threw the lightsaber Luke's way, which he caught with ease, despite still recovering from his chokehold. He activated his lightsaber, red fire burning from its hilt.

"Show me your power."

Luke's blade shot out of the hilt, rising it quickly as he sensed Palpatine's attack. The sword's met one another as splashes of sparks grinded, spilling onto his own skin and singeing the Sith Lord's cloak. His opponent sliced downward with his scarlet hue, lunging for Luke's legs. The boy jumped in time and did a flip over the Dark Lord of the Sith, breathing steadily as he found his footing and prepared for whatever onslaught awaited him.

The boy knew better from his duel with Vader. The only way he could dare stand a chance would be to stay on the defensive the entire time, wait for the right opportunity to strike, and cut through this bastion of Force energy that haunted all of the galaxy. "I will only defend," Luke said, trying his hardest to push back the teeming rage he locked underneath. He had to remember the wisdom of Master Yoda and Obi-Wan, as frustrating as they both could be at times. Center himself on The Force, he must. Though he may lose physically, he must never let his soul be stolen.

"Ever the Jedi," Palpatine hissed, sweeping his blade into Luke's and locking it in place, thrashing it around left and right. It was difficult for Luke to match his speed, his own form was clumsy and lacking from a lack of focused training, but he found it easier to let go and separate himself from the duel than it was for him on Bespin. If he were to lose this time, he could lose knowing that The Force was with him.

The two men lashed and dodged, Luke cautiously guarding from the attacks as much as he could and Palpatine trying to strike with every intent of murder, dancing around the deadliest dance Luke had ever faced. With frustration at Luke's refusal to go on the offensive, The Emperor unleashed his full weight against Luke and knocked him to the floor. The rebel stared at the face of this phantom of the Emperor, noting the nothingness of it aside from the burning eyes.

"I will break you, Jedi, as I have broken all Jedi," he hissed from the cloak. Luke pushed back and rolled his way out of Palpatine's blade, scampering out further into the darkness. The further out he went, however, the harder it was to see and the more faded his opponent became. "You must face me.. or you must embrace your fear and run. Run into the abyss, let your fear consume me, and face me once more."

"I will not run," Luke replied, turning back around and facing his opponent. Those evil eyes stared back at him but Luke sensed they peered deeper than just his physical surface, gazing deep into the confines of his very soul. "You have much to answer for, your Highness. I might not be the one to bring you to justice. You may even destroy me – but your Empire will not last much longer."

The Emperor lunged forward and thrust with extreme intensity at Luke, pushing forth with enough weight to knock Luke off of his feet, and onto the ground. Luke used the right hand Palpatine had wished him to support himself on the ground, kicking the Sith Lord with his left leg and sending him flying out into the shadows. A sickening bellow erupted around the Jedi Knight, the ground shaking beneath his feet as Palpatine faded out into the black.

He wasn't gone – Luke could tell that much. The Sith Lord was both nowhere and everywhere, stalking about along the haze. He had to prepare for anything. The lightsaber felt like a cooling release in his grasp as his eyes searched for the looming monster, the only thing providing him freedom from unease.

Above Luke, Palpatine roared out and stabbed downward from the sky. The youth barely dodged in time, flipping back and bringing up his lightsaber for a last minute parry. "My empire," Palpatine cried out, maniacal rage seething from his phantom, swiping left and right at Luke, who struggled to keep up with the onslaught. He continued to hold his ground, though his attempts began to wither.

"Will never," he hissed out again, trying to spin away Luke's lightsaber from his grasp. Luke clung to the weapon with both hands, unwilling to let go, trying his hardest to stand his ground no matter what. Palpatine slashed upward and threw Luke's arms into the air, descending upon them with fiendish delight as he spread into a wide arc.

"End!"

Luke screamed as the familiar sense of flesh meeting fire returned to him, hobbling back as he saw the lower half of his arms fall to the ground, separated from his body, while the smell of his own seared limbs made him almost vomit in disgust. He slumped to his knees as he bit down on his tongue, trying his hardest to choke back his sobs of pain.

"You aren't ready to face me," the cloaked figure decided, holding his lightsaber close to Luke's neck. The Jedi looked back at those hideous and haunting eyes through his own blistering tears, and finally felt as if he understood how much those eyes truly hated and feared him.

"Though, I must admit, you did much better than I would have thought. Your father would have been quite proud. Speaking of which," he hissed, turning his head to the right. "I believe he is here now. Right outside of this trance – watching our every action. Tell me, Lord Vader, does this remind you of something else? Or someone else you may have murdered in a similar fashion? Oh, I can remember the hatred you felt. The relief you felt when you finally took his head too. Maybe I should do the same and free you once more?"

"No!"

Red light surrounded Luke as he saw a blade stab through the Emperor, the golden eyes slowly losing color as the cloak began to fade. The Emperor soon dimmed out of sight, though the dull echo of his sick laugh filled the vast space. Luke felt himself collapse into the black armor of his father, crying out sobs of relief as he heaved onto the breastplate. "Father," he whimpered, shuddering as the darkness that surrounded them, too, began to fade.

"It wasn't real, Luke," Vader said, lightly petting Luke's hair with his glove.

Luke pulled himself away from his father and noticed he was right – his arms were back the way they were before, no more Stormtroopers littered at the edge of the walls either, and no sign of the phantom menace that stalked him into battle. "I'm not strong enough yet," Luke stated as fact, falling back into the armor of his father.

"We will make you strong, my son," Vader pleaded, allowing Luke to stay where he was. The father raised his arms and wrapped them tightly around his son, possibly because he realized just what he had to lose now. "But we cannot stay here. The Emperor found you – and me – and could sense your presence. He lured you into a trap in your sleep. I tried to enter it, to rescue you from him, but it took me too long. Staying here was a mistake. We must move."

The Jedi understood – but he couldn't deny the sudden fear he felt, the lingering presence of Vader's master still pervaded the room. That fear made him feel weak, disoriented at what was to come, and terrified of what the real man he faced was really like.

"I'm sorry, father," he whispered one last time, burrowing his head out from Vader.

"We will destroy him, my son. I promise you that."


	13. Dreams and Nightmares

"You cannot protect him."

The echo of his former master hung around the hollow spaces of his helmet, whispering into what remained of his ears and hissing at him to comply. The Dark Lord turned and faced his sleeping son, staring at him with hidden worry underneath that mask. That gravelly voice of his former Master, painted by the strokes of hatred, sounded as loud as the rising of his son's snores in the cockpit.

The voice reminded him of the vision his son was faced with. The Dark Lord of the Sith watched in horror as his son attempted to take on the Emperor, poorly matched but standing his most firm and strong. He wondered if Luke did better than he would have at that age; after all, he never even gave Palpatine a chance to explain himself. Vader wished he had been as bright as a young man.

He was proud to watch his son's defiance. Though his skill with the Force and the blade proved unready for the great fight that awaited them both, he showed true growth and confidence in his performance. Great promise followed his footsteps but so did the signs of great despair. Physical pain: that was all Vader could sense as the blade sliced through his son's arms, unintentionally siphoning the agony from Luke in an attempt to make it bearable. It was something his own body had gotten used to. The mutilation of his limbs grew less painful and more cumbersome as time passed, to the point where they were nothing more than simple machines that acted as tools for his arms and legs.

But the pain being shared from his son was more than just simple shock; it was the realization that he had caused this very same pain to his child, not so long ago, and that Luke harbored that very same contempt and rage at himself for quite some time. The two Sith Lords were monsters of different extremes but monsters nevertheless.

Defeat was inevitable if they were to face him now.

"I will destroy you, Lord Vader. You will bow at your knees for my forgiveness, to rule by my side once more, but your pleas will go unanswered," that voice commanded, so eerily quiet but loud enough to make his head ring. His whispers hung around Vader's helmet, looking around for the tiniest slots of insecurity that formed into the great barrier that was his brain. Failing his former Master still caused him great terror – but something else gave him even greater worry. "And instead, I will claim your son as my own."

"He will pay for your mistakes, my old apprentice. You must be extinguished as the failure you have always been. Such potential, to be sure, though never realized. Not able to save your mother from a death you predicted for months.. nor your wife from your failures.. nor will you be able to save your own feeble self. Corrupting the boy, tearing him apart from your laughable legacy, will be one of the most satisfying acts I have ever done."

"You will not claim him."

That voice frustrated him. Vader knew that this wasn't truly the Emperor – he had attuned himself to shut out the real voice of his Master, worked diligently to deafen his thoughts to the universe around him. Palpatine assumed him to be damaged goods, a walking corpse that was sustained only by the consuming sorrow, and no longer capable of feeling or thinking outside the confines of his surroundings. How wrong that man was; overconfidence was a common occurrence in those employed by The Force. The Sith and The Jedi were both equally blind to whatever they chose to believe and whatever defied it.

Palpatine was a God.

Not a physical one, though his knowledge of The Force perverted him enough to be close. That was how he thought of himself – nothing else existed, nothing else mattered, nothing but the sensation of total domination and destruction. He was the one that towered over the galaxy with an iron fist, beating out the defiance in star systems and executing those that dared threaten his power. The man was unbeatable. After all, this was the same man that started as a lowly Senator and became the most feared individual in the entire universe. For all intents and purposes, Palpatine was a divine beast.

Maybe that was what drew him to the man; before he was Darth Vader, back when he was the wretched man that proved to be far too gullible and trusting for his own good. Being in the company of the Chancellor was intoxicating to the feeble Jedi. Intense pleasure and a lust for that same type of power always seemed to creep into his head whenever they shared an audience. It feared the Jedi – rightfully so, in hindsight. That man became a centerpiece to his consciousness; it spoke to him, determining what was right and wrong, leading him to disastrous decisions and sickening consequences.

He still existed, right next to his brain, feeding his own dark desires and fears.

"I will protect him," thought Vader, sweeping the bangs out of his son's face. Luke looked so peaceful resting like that, slumped back in the co-pilot's seat, his legs crossed over atop the panel. This was how he wanted his son to be – careless, serene, at ease from the horrors that pursued them both. He wondered just how his son slept as a babe. Did he have that same light snore, dazzling out quietly but ever so delicately filling the room? Were his arms always so bundled close to his chest, with his left hand tucked tenderly beneath his chin?

How much he had missed in the past twenty-three years. In all that time, all he ever truly wished was that he could have been a father. Aching pain stabbed at what remained of his heart whenever he thought of this; not just in relation to his son but to the villain he allowed himself to become. There was never going to be a way for him to come back to normalcy – his crimes denied him that second chance. The families of the millions he ordered executed would surely never forgive. Those whom he personally assassinated, their souls would never grant him absolution.

Vader was stuck as a monster in armor.

He reached out toward his son, grabbing his right forearm and rubbing it soothingly, as he suspected a father would. The sight of his son's maiming made the Dark Lord feel intense rage – anger at his son's inability to accurately protect himself, even deeper frustration with himself for being responsible for such a permanent injury to the man made of his flesh and blood. The wound had long sealed. His gloves locked themselves around Luke's stump and patted it gently, apologetic and fearful of what was to come. Luke twitched as Vader held to his son, twisting himself to the left and collapsing onto Vader's arm.

"He will hate me either way," Vader said, deliberately disabling his vocal processor in order to speak his mind freely without worry of what anyone else would say or think. His tone was feeble – weak. In some ways, the gravelly and disturbed nature of his voice reminded him of his old Master. Everything went back to that man, no matter how hard he tried to escape. "I never truly meant to cause him harm. I have endangered him, my son, by seeking him out. The Emperor never would have even known he existed. He could be… somewhere... anywhere but here. He'd still have his hand. He'd still have the proud but fake memories of a father that never existed."

"The Emperor is coming now, for the both of us. I sense it – I know you felt it too," Luke grimaced in his slumber, moaning quietly as if he could understand everything Vader said with certainty. "I do not know when, or where, we will finally face him. But it is certain that our destiny will bring us to him sooner rather than later. We cannot escape it, Luke. I wish we could, for your sake," he said, patting his son's arm with care. "As well as mine."

* * *

Luke awoke with a jolt.

"Father," he hushed assuredly as he stared at Vader, whose attention was completely back on piloting the vessel. It was almost darkly amusing to him how he grew to find comfort in this man; the individual that at one time caused him such great pain, hurt his friends, and was the main enemy of his cause. In any circumstance, this would have been disturbing and horrifying to Skywalker. If he were even a year younger, he wouldn't be sure if he could look at himself in the eye.

But this was his circumstance. Vader was no longer the enemy but the man who created him, the father that ever so desperately wanted to teach his son. The youth felt so distant from his cause with the Rebel Alliance – that all seemed years passed, a distant memory that rang and reminded it of itself ever so often. He wasn't even sure if he could return to them, not after what he was guilty of as the son of their second most hated enemy. Would he still be seen as the great destroyer of the Death Star or as Darth Vader's son? Would his friends still accept him with open arms? What about Han Solo, would he still rush to his side and protect him from harm? And Leia – would she still care?

He wasn't sure.. but everything was so much bigger than them now. His destiny went far and beyond the role of a simple Commander in their Alliance; he was now the potential bridge between the Empire and the dissent. If they were successful in defeating Palpatine, maybe he could convince his father to stand down and give that power back to the people. Luke had become this great bargaining chip but that possibility could only exist if they were able to end the Empire itself.

Was that something Vader was willing to do?

Luke wasn't sure but he felt confident that he could convince his father to let go. They both would – after all, Luke was no politician. He was never going to lead a great return to a glorious Republic and that was fine with him. Giving up that power would be necessary in the coming future. But there still was the little obstacle that stood in all their way. That, actually, was what he had been dreaming about all night.

The Emperor was still lingering.

That vision remained behind his closed eyes. The nightmare came back to him throughout his sleep, facing off against the deadly apparition of Palpatine with all his might. They dug deep inside him. Somehow, he sensed that these were no longer visions but a terrifying existence conjured up by fear-filled weaknesses that plagued and betrayed his self. He knew that he was not strong enough to survive a real encounter – and these dreams had to remind him over and over of his weaknesses. Sometimes he would only be maimed, collapsing at the ground and hearing the gloating of his villain. Other times, a fatal blow occurred and he woke up in a sweat before the lightsaber stabbed into his person.

The never ending hell continued from the beginning of night to the end of day. It was inescapable and every time he attempted to close his eyes longer than a minute, he could hear that ghostly cackle. He was too afraid to go all out at first, wanting nothing more than to shut them out and forget. But they persisted – continued their awful fight in the claiming of his soul.

Fight, protect, defend.

It didn't take too long for Luke to make his stand. He learned from these dreams, as they repeated. The battle that played through his head was the same every time; The Emperor always made the same moves, always slashed at the same angle, cutting and sweeping up and below continuously until it became a game of memorization. But the young Jedi was only able to prolong the duel against the Sith, learning more shocking horrors whenever he started to regain confidence in himself and his abilities. Parrying the lightsaber blows became easier with each defeat but they taxed his memory and made his muscles sluggish and poorly responsive.

That last time, bright purple light shot out of the demon's fingertips as the fight grew to a standstill. Luke couldn't prepare himself for what was to come – he collapsed on the floor, writhing in agony as the lightning shot into his skin and took control of his muscles, locking them in place and raging fire across his nerves. This was different than when he lost his hand; that was a sudden and instant pain that flickered on and off as it dimmed to a low and steady throb. That was more shock than anything – this was real and concentrated matter of hatred created by the distortion in the Force.

The young Jedi could barely open his eyes during the onslaught and when he did, he saw nothing but harsh light and grey smoke rising out of his body. There wasn't anything to distract from the pain, nothing to focus on by sight to pull him away from the constant surge of energy. Maybe if he could search for his lightsaber through the Force, he'd have a chance at winning this fight. After all, he knew that this dream was never going to escape him unless he managed to conquer it.

But how?

Luke couldn't address it to his father. That would be a weakness in his eyes – and though he was certain his terror was plain on his face, he wished to do all he could for his father to take pride in him. He had to think of some way to defeat the apparition that flooded his sleep. Stretching up from his place, Skywalker stood from his seat and looked out at the window into the deep space before them both.

"I never get used to the coldness of space," Luke stated, hunching over by his father.

"It isn't something anyone should get used to," Vader stated absentmindedly, his attention placed entirely on piloting the ship. "We are special, I suppose, to come from such a scalding planet. I once felt the frozen atmosphere of space, as you do. I always hated it; though I always at home in space, the cold always reminded me that I didn't belong there. That miserable planet always had a chain tugging at my neck, grounding me whenever I felt like I finally escaped."

The boy forgot that his father was a slave. Well, he knew that Anakin Skywalker was once a slave as his aunt and uncle recounted to him, but he sometimes forgot to connect that Anakin and Vader were one and the same. It made sense in the way that it shaped him down this destructive path – even from just his father's voice, he could sense the total rage and anger he felt toward that place. Luke brought down his left hand and placed it on his father's shoulder, clumsily perhaps, in an attempt to quiet that wrath. Vader's head turned suddenly and stared at the hand, violently shaking for a second. Luke knew that if anyone else had done that, their neck would have been snapped in seconds, along with their windpipe crushed. His father continued to stare at the end, shaking less the longer he looked. Then there was a pause.. and he turned his head back to his station, raising his own hand and clasping it over his son's.

"We can escape from this, father."

"I only wish that were true," Vader said, a hint of sadness spilling out with his voice.

"Anything is possible with the two of us and the Force by our side," Luke soothed to the Sith. Vader was motionless as the ship rocked back and forth in the uneven channels of space, the resonant hum of the hyperdrive filling the silence between the two men. There was doubt in his father's mind. Maybe, perhaps, there was even doubt in his own mind. They were both silent. The youth slid his hand from under his father's and placed his on top, his fingers mingling with Vader's in a firm showing of compassion.

Luke left his father in silence and headed out of the cockpit, walking to the refresher and staring intently at the mirror before him. How he had changed from that simple farmboy of yesterday – his hair was nearly to his shoulders now and delicate blond whiskers began to poke around his chin and upper lip. He unbuttoned and pulled off his fatigues, marveling at how muscled and strong he had become. Luke wasn't a boy anymore; he was a man, an adult, thrown into situations above what an adult was expected. He had to continue to grow if he were to survive.

The Jedi turned on the shower and exhaled loudly as he basked in the warmth. He would have to think long and hard – determine ways that he could undermine the Emperor as the electricity shot through his muscles and bones. The youth crouched down on the floor and let the dull water pitter patter against his naked skin, hanging his head between his hands as his hair soaked and collapsed around them.

"I must feel," he trembled, closing his eyes and concentrating on the fall of water. Luke lifted his right arm and outstretched it toward the ceiling, waiting for the droplets to fall on his skin. Clearing his head, he bowed back and allowed the rest of the water to drain on his face. The rush of water suddenly came to a slow, as he began to sense the fall of each of the hundreds of droplets one at a time. They formed a chaotic but unique rhythm – telling him a story of their travel, falling from the faucet and absorbing either into the atmosphere of the refresher or into his skin.

"Think," muttered Luke, making a motion with his arm that went with the same beat of his stilled heart. The droplets followed course – they slowed significantly, levitating in air and spinning all around his crouched self. Water surrounded him as the droplets formed into one circular wave, surrounding the Jedi Knight like a protective wall. The wave stood two feet from the ground, enveloping the youth as he attempted to calm himself. This was where he was always most at peace. His thoughts felt so clear here, so focused.

"Dream," he concluded.

Luke was back in the duel. The dream of Palpatine looked to him with impish glee as his red lightsaber flew into the air and sliced his way – the Jedi blocked his strike with ease, going on the defensive as he memorized the slew of blows that were to come. That was all this needed to be; a game of survival and waiting. Patience was not always Skywalker's greatest asset but he leaned towards it with all his might.

"Feel the attack," he said to himself, jumping in advance as the ghost swiped at his knees. The ferociousness of his attacks were quick and powerful but easily outdone once the fear and terror were cast aside. They were reckless strikes, though precise, that were easy enough to catch in advance. Their blades were locked in place, the fire of Palpatine's red against the stillness of Luke's cyan, crackling against one another as they burned. He caught the opening – right before Palpatine was planning to strike, Luke took the opportunity to thrust the blade back, twisting it out of his hands.

"Prepare," stated Luke, raising the lightsaber in front of himself. The Emperor laughed as he raised his left hand, outstretching it towards Skywalker. Purple energy zoomed out of his fingertips and launched directly at the Jedi; however, the lightsaber protected him from the blast. Luke smiled as the weapon shook in his hand, vibrating violently as the blade absorbed the energy. It was working. He had learned of a way to deflect the Emperor's great strike of Sith lightning. There was a chance he could –

But before Luke could finish his thoughts, his smile was wiped off his face. The Emperor raised his other hand and concentrated all his energy toward Luke's lightsaber, causing it to shake stronger than Luke could control. He had to hold on.. he had hold – but the lightsaber exploded, blowing off his hand and allowing the purple flashes of light to shoot into his body.

"Search," he cried under the torrent of lightning. Luke had to strike now before he completely lost consciousness and woke up. His own weapon had been destroyed but there had to be something else, something he could use to stop the apparition. He searched through the smoky haze, as hard as it was, and peeled through the lightning to find anything laying around. There was nothing but ashes and debris from his own lightsaber to his left.. but to his right..

"Focus!"

The Emperor's lightsaber lay still on the ground. Luke bit his tongue and exerted all of his energy towards raising his right arm, focusing everything on taking that weapon. It shook – vibrating on the ground. His teeth grinded violently as his arm folded out further, the lightsaber shaking, shaking. He exhaled suddenly as his cries died down. Red light shot out of the blade and flew into the air, slicing out and stabbing the apparition as it towered over Luke.

Lightning stopped as the figure stood motionless, impaled by the lightsaber. His arms were shaking as they attempted to grasp the beam of energy, only to be sanctified by the power of the weapon. The being exploded as Luke finally opened his eyes. Black shadows dissipated into the winds that surrounded the figure of the Emperor, swirling around in great power, until they finally collapsed.

When Luke regained consciousness, he was lying face down in two feet of water. He couldn't breathe; when he tried, all he could inhale was water, and he couldn't help but feel he had been inhaling water for a while. He felt so serene and at peace underwater, he didn't notice his lungs caving in as they kept swallowing more and more liquid. The wall of water he made must have collapsed around him while he was dreaming. The shower was also still running all that time – and he could see Vader, his father, carefully trudging through the water to his rescue as he opened vents to the garbage area of the ship. He couldn't get too deep into the water, otherwise he ran the risk of short circuiting his suit. As the water drained below, the Dark Lord rushed to him and knelt to the side of his son as he propped him up on his knee, watching him with great worry.

Water coughed out of Luke's mouth as he attempted to speak. It gargled out of his mouth for some time, empting out of his lungs and stomach, coughing for some time as it spilled out of him. "I did it, father," he managed to gurgle out underneath his choking coughs. He could tell that his father was furious – probably wondering just what the hell his fool son was up to. He grabbed his father's hand and squeezed tightly. "I told you we could do it."

His father looked down at him, unable to say anything. But the young Jedi opened his mind and allowed Vader to take in all that he just endured, his nightmares, his battles, his losses, his victory. Though one victory out of dozens of losses weren't good odds, they were better than none at all. Vader's frustration and anger were quite apparent – but even more so was his pride, as he grabbed his son's shoulders, recognizing his accomplishment as they lay there, their heavy sighs of relief comforting the other.


	14. The Twin Suns

Leia Organa was changing by the second.

Her once carefully braided hair lay at her waist, matted and unkempt, swinging back and forth with every step she carefully took in those marshy wastes. Likewise, the pristine white jumpsuit that entered Dagobah with was a hideous mixture of grey and caked with mud, all around. She washed them every few days – even bathed in a makeshift pond she built herself. She dug the well herself after rigorous weeks of training – the intense physical labor hardening her muscles and conditioning her mind. Through the Force, Leia lifted balls of water from the swamp and layered them delicately into her little bath. It took some practice but she soon learned to master it. But no matter how hard she tried, that sickening hue never seemed to be able to come out of the cloth.

"It's about time I tried being something other than a Princess," Leia stated, lowering herself into the pond. Everyone who knew the Princess knew this about Leia; she loved to wrestle around in nature, getting her hands and arms dirty as she tinkered and explored. Being in the Senate, where every other motion she claimed got stomped and battered out of existence, was difficult. She longed to act. Even when acting as a leader for the Rebel Alliance, she rarely got the chance to see the real combat. As the Princess of one of the most important worlds to the cause, her survival and symbolism meant more than anything else to many of the leadership; doubly so, since the loss of her homeworld.

She wondered how they would react when she returned. Mon would probably be furious at the dangers she put herself in by learning the ways of the Jedi and the Force – and, would she be in her position, Leia probably would be just as upset. War is more than violence and the soldiers that give and lose their lives. It is also about the cause, hope, and the belief in something righteous and greater. The Princess of Alderaan had a very important role to play and Leia Organa would have to give in again, someday.

For now, however, Leia was a disciple to an ancient cause. The Jedi Knight that she would soon become had another important role to play, one that was desperately needed to end the Empire. There were powers at hand far beyond what the Alliance council could imagine; disturbing magic that could bend and control the will of a space battle and the morale of their troops. The Emperor was a dangerous man, far more dangerous than Leia knew.

The duality to her role in this war stung close to her heart; The Princess would soon be needed. However, that was not a title she could claim just yet – not until her role had been completed. Leia wished that there were some way she communicate to them, give them the advice that they needed, and boost the brave individuals that risked their lives day in and out. There had to be someway.. someway to get in contact with them without risking her position and her Jedi title.

Leia dunked her head underneath the murky depths, closing her eyes as she stilled her breathing and calmed her heart. The Princess enjoyed basking in the warm waters, the Force sustaining her life as she pondered in the stillness of water. It allowed her to think – feel – without the distraction of everything else. Her hair floated and twirled above as she buried herself beneath the current, her fingertips scratching softly against wet earth. Here, there was no sun, no stars. There was just being.

Look deep.

This meditation brought solace to her confused and wondering heart. Buried beneath this wave of water, Leia felt as if she weren't even Leia anymore. It was just so much clearer, more distinct. The feelings that pounded and throbbed next to her brain were instantly deafened. This, to her, was the true Force that Yoda and Luke spoke of; it was a higher level of understanding that reached out just past oneself. The Princess sensed all kinds of life – the floating bacteria basking in the warmth of the swamp, the microscopic insects that danced with her presence in the bath.

She laid still underwater for a while, balancing herself as best she could. Then, a sound.

"Leia," whispered a voice, so softly that she barely could make it out. Her eyelids tightened as she attempted to amplify the voice, biting down on her lip as she focused all on her hearing. It was so familiar but so ever distant – but it resonated within her, clutching close to her aching heart. This wasn't the voice of her brother, like she had heard before; Luke's distinct tenor was lost in the deep baritone that rang in her head. She heard the voice again… and again… it was just so muddled, so lost.

Who are you?

Thoughts flickered inside her skull, bouncing around in desperation as they searched for the owner. Leia knew the owner, of course, but it was muffled and lost; almost as if it were frozen in space or time. It reminded her, perhaps, of an echo that wavered within both the Force and her mind. She chose to concentrate again – feel, understand, communicate.

"Leia," he whispered again.

Her eyes burst open suddenly, the browned muddy haze illuminated by a fine light in the water. Leia stared at the light and watched carefully as it bent and shaped itself, the figure of a face looming out. The face called out to her yet again, this time much more resonant and clear. Closed eyes appeared on the face, thick eyebrows and shaggy hair grown around them. Nose and mouth came out from the light, puckered lips whispering her name repeatedly. The scar forming on his chin revealed himself to her – setting her chest alight with sudden passion and longing.

"Han!"

Water sloshed into her mouth, causing her to lose her concentration and thrash about in the makeshift pond, losing the concentration of that man. Leia pushed her head out of the water and exhaled, heaving out as her back collapsed against the earth. She waited a minute to collect herself, breathing in and out until her pulse went back to normal. The man that she longed for all these months, whom she loved so dearly, was still alive out there – and this time, she sensed him. Encased in carbonite and surrounded by a vicious group of gangsters and outlaws, buried deep in the sands of Tatooine; yet still, he waited.

The time to wait had ended. This wasn't meant to be the end of her training (if anything, she hoped that the return of Han meant she could continue indefinitely) but she knew it was likely going to come to a pause. She came to this swampland to find Luke, her brother. Leia sensed him previously though – he was safe. That was all she really needed to know. And unlike Luke, who was surrounded by danger but protected by the light within him, Leia sensed that Han was begging for her return.

Leia sprang herself from the pond and dried herself off, zipping up her jumpsuit with speed as she paced around the marsh, an urgent sensation overwhelming herself. "I have to rescue him," hushed Leia, poking around to the small hut that her Jedi Master resided. The smuggler still needed her help, and she desperately needed an ally – and a lover. With him at her side, they could take on the whole galaxy. But how would Yoda react – would he disown her? Be disappointed that she chose her friend over her training, as her brother once did?

Yoda didn't hesitate to voice his disappointment in Luke. This felt unfair to Leia, who probably wouldn't have even been able to escape Cloud City were it not for his attempt to rescue them. He proved the distraction they needed to escape the planet and the Empire. Now, knowing that the young man was her brother, she felt an even sharper sting when her instructor spoke of Luke's recklessness. Not only did it bring about her instincts to protect her family but it also reminded her of some of her own shortcomings. They were compared, in ways that she'd never even considered before.

She couldn't disappoint him… but she had little choice.

There wasn't much time to ponder; the door to the hut was open and the fragile creature that instructed her lay almost completely still on his bed. Leia hobbled over and knelt into the small home, curious to see Yoda in such a taste. She trembled as she crouched over to him – his breathing was uneven, his complexion clammy. "Master Yoda," she said, raising her hand and brushing his forehead. The Jedi Master coughed and opened his eyes, exposing the worn and glazed look he wore.

"Long have I lived," he huffed, struggling to sit up and speak to his apprentice. "Soon will I die."

Die? Surely he couldn't mean?

"Glad am I to see the face of an apprentice; young eyes do well to this old soul. In this long life, much have I seen. Hundreds of friends made, hundreds of friends gone. Ever still, they remain. Surround the both of us, they do. Hear them – so quiet and still, they are. Join them soon, I must. Here I am, to embrace the living force ready and willing. Yes, hmmm."

"Master Yoda," Leia said, gripping his hand tenderly. She sensed the great pain he endured – and understood the massive release he would soon feel. It hurt to watch him like this, a great figure reduced to a decaying image. He was the last Jedi. Great guilt suddenly took over Leia.

"Ready am I to face the next step. Soon, someday, you will be too."

"I don't know what to do next without you," said Leia, breaking the small silence between the two. "You know so much and I still know so little. I have to tell you – I was going to leave. I came here, to come tell you, that I was going to go away to help a friend. But I won't leave yet, not with you in this condition."

"No coincidence with the Force, is there?"

They both smiled at one another, as he coughed again.

"Go to your friend, you must. No immediate danger will you be I sense but clouded is the Force and those who wield it. Leia – true to yourself, you must be. Do not let hate win; destined for greatness are you and your brother. Coming soon will be tests. Hold on to what you have learned," Yoda said through his gravelly voice, his eyes sliding back as his breaths shortened. He coughed again as his other hand raised his blanket and snuggled it around his body. She assisted him and made sure he was warm.

"I'm not ready though," Leia whispered, uncertain of herself and the fate that stood before her.

"Ready to leave you are," Yoda reminded her, nodding back and exhaling back into his bed. "Ready to face the Dark Side, you will be. The Dark Side, you must resist. Find peace, seek it. So will be your brother… Luke… protect him. Your brother, Leia, you must protect. The Dark Side corners him… strong is he… but the Emperor… desires him, he does. My proudest accomplishment... you both are."

"I will protect my brother," she hushed, her face practically right next to his. Yoda smiled at the comfort of her words, his eyelids finally lowering themselves one last time. His head wobbled up and down momentarily before finally slumping down, the breathing of his chest coming to an immediate halt. His hand slid out of hers and fell to his side.

She looked at the remains of her former master, a single tear streaming down from her eye. How peaceful he looked, even in death. That content smile was still and firm; it would be the last image she had of him and how she would always remember him. "Sleep well," she stated sadly.

This wasn't the first death Leia had witnessed – nor would it be the last, she assumed. Friends, family, young men and women throwing their lives away for a cause they all believed in. The Princess would not rest until she saw peace come to them all. Her new powers gave her a feeling of both complete control and complete chaos at the universe surrounding her. Though her time on Dagobah was brief, she felt like a whole new woman emerging out from the overhanging forests.

As she spoke, the body of Yoda began to dissipate and fade into the air around her. It was the most miraculous thing Leia had ever seen – the blanket that was wrapped around him ever so tightly collapsed onto the bed, the owner of it ascended into somewhere above: beyond. That brought her immediate ease and made her think about death itself – was it really that easy? To just slip away and become both everything and nothing at the same time? The Jedi Master made it look so comforting.

Now, however, she had to be on her own. There was no one left to teach or train her – this was all she was going to get. Was she ready for it? Leia didn't' feel so but she trusted the words of her departed instructor: she will soon be. Even though, she wouldn't be totally on her own. At least until she made it to Tatooine and rescued the smuggler Han Solo – and maybe, someday soon, run into her brother. "I'm coming for you both," Leia stated firmly, kneeling out of Yoda's hut and preparing her long voyage to the space above.

* * *

Luke was piloting the vessel this time, slumped back in the cockpit as his father attempted to fix the mangled fingers and rewire the circuitry of his prosthetic hand. It was so complex and watching his father prod and wrestle with the wiring was intriguing to the youth. As a kid, Luke was known for being a bit of a genius when it came to mechanical work. He was able to fix up his speeder and help Uncle Owen rewire and program the farm hand droids with ease at a young age. This, however? This was different. Vader was proficient with machinery in a way that eclipsed Luke. There was no doubt in his tinkering, every movement of his fingers came with purpose and skill.

At least he knew where he got it from now.

Back to piloting. His left hand was responsible for steering and maneuvering the ship, which, as a one handed individual, was easier said than done. It was frustrating and a challenge that Luke wasn't prepared to wake up from his nap for.. but he happily obliged to give his father a break. He peeked back at his father's tinkering and sighed. The young rebel wished he had his own prosthetic – at the very least, it would have made piloting easier. Though he, admittedly, had grown used to using just his left hand the past few months and felt even more at ease with the lightsaber firmly in its grasp, he never seemed to get used to using the blaster with it. Dressing was also a bit of a pain.

He looked to his stump and grimaced. No matter how hard he tried, it wasn't an easy thing to look at. The end of his arm was mangled, jagged edges of burned tissue growing over bone. It didn't hurt – not anymore – but the sight of it always brought back the sensation of his own draining cry, the smell of the lightsaber making contact with his limb, blistering and seared, rising into the air and into his nostril. He almost vomited thinking about it.

"Don't let yourself be distracted, Luke," he muttered to himself, careful to be quiet enough that his father couldn't hear him. The Jedi Knight looked out into the stars that zoomed past them, each one glowing brighter than the last. That little boy from the desert would never believe the stories he had witnessed, the worlds he had examined, the individuals he had encountered. He looked to the readings on the navicomputer and frowned when he saw a name on the screen: Kamino.

That had to be their destination – but Luke couldn't help but notice how close it was to his own home planet, the burning sands of Tatooine. How he wished they would be able to stop there just for a minute. His boyish instincts came flooding back to his head, the lightsaber clipped to his belt feeling all the more weight and power. Surely some of his friends were still around. If he couldn't believe his own stories, who knows how they would react? Little Wormie becoming a Jedi Knight? Hah.

But he had the lightsaber to prove it.

Back to Kamino. Kamino, Kamino, that sounded so familiar to him. There were rumors of a planet nearby that helped house the soldiers during the Galactic Civil War – maybe that is what that was? He had just assumed them to be childish tall tales, stories passed around a forgotten world to make themselves feel a bit closer to the action.

"Why are going to this Kamino?"

"Because it has no more use to the Emperor," Vader hissed, annoyed at his son's questioning. Luke smiled to himself as he sensed the irritation – amused at the reaction. "The cloning facilities have long since been abandoned and the Emperor made sure that the local inhabitants would no longer cause any unpleasantries. We are in need of fuel, of which I believe they still have some, and they may have enough parts needed to fix you a replacement hand."

"That sure would be nice," Luke said, simultaneously sounding gracious and sarcastic. "Cloning – huh? What did you say about that?"

"I assumed you would be more worried about repairing your arm," huffed Vader, refusing to take his concentration off of his own hand. The Jedi shrugged at Vader's response and kept piloting on. "It isn't really of any consequence anymore. Before there were Stormtroopers, there were Clonetroopers. They were commissioned by the Republic, and later the Empire, to end the threat of the war. Most were either killed in action or retired at this point. I forget that your viewpoint is a bit… limited… considering your upbringing."

"It's not like you weren't born on the same planet, you know," Luke replied, reminding the Sith Lord of his beginnings. There was a quiet air between the two men but Luke sensed that he could vaguely hear the sound of a chuckle come out of the laborious mask.

"That is true, my son," Vader said, rising from his position and placing his hand on Luke's shoulder. The fingers that had been torn off previously were replaced perfectly, digging in to his son's jacket. He stared down at his child and nodded. "We share much in common. We both have very similar beginnings, rising out of the ashes of that despicable planet, and becoming heroes of a great war, fighting a righteous cause… though we do have our differences somewhere after that."

"Clearly."

Luke felt his father's hand claw into his shoulder, scraping his skin hard enough to bruise but not leave any mark, before finally letting go. The rebel raised his left hand and rubbed it over the spot, groaning at the pointless pain he was feeling. "You know, father," stated Luke, patting down on his shoulder. "We don't actually have to be on different sides when this is all over. We can – move out, somewhere, far away from the core planets. No one will know you and no one will know me."

"Your naivety is as endearing as it is revolting," Vader hissed. "I am known everywhere. I cannot simply leave this suit and mask behind, take on a new identity, and live out my life in peace. People see my shadow and they instantly see fear. They hear my breathing – they assume their lives are about to be cut short. This suit is engraved into my flesh – without it, without a bacta chamber nearby, I will not survive. It isn't my destiny to let go of the sorrow that binds me, either. I must endure. Our only chance is to take the battle to my former master. End his reign."

"And what then?"

"You'll begin your reign, I suppose."

Luke's attention was completely off the navicomputer at this point. His mouth was wide open, his eyes spread, dazzling wonder and confusion sparkling within them. That wasn't something the boy had ever considered; though he distinctly remembered the offer his father made to him on Cloud City, he never assumed that, should they be successful, Vader planned on giving him absolute power. "You must be joking," he said, dumbfounded by the suggestion. "I'm just some kind from Tatooine. I – I don't know a thing about owning a house, taking care of a pet, let alone ruling over an Empire."

"That is what makes you perfect for the position. You are… despite my best efforts, you are still meek. The Empire is not necessarily a weapon needed to strike at its own citizens. That is but one manner of power; Palpatine's method. It can also easily work as a shield, blindly devoted to protecting the people and the planets within," he said. Luke pondered at the thought but remained skeptical. "Though you would rule as you pleased, you have the potential of transforming this Empire to something better than just an instrument of destruction and despair."

"And I – I would only live as I live now. My purpose is to serve. Acting upon the wishes and desires of my son, carrying out the Empire he forged. The people would never forgive me; but, in due time, they could learn to love this great Empire and bow down to a whole line of Skywalkers."

"That is ridiculous," Luke said in frustration, combing his fingers through his hair. "Even if I – suppose I did get that kind of power, suppose we beat the Emperor, the people would never agree to it. The Alliance certainly wouldn't. We would just be prolonging another pointless war."

"You could always give them more autonomy, resume the Senate."

Some of what Vader was saying made sense to Skywalker – that was the disturbing part of it all. Not the power part, that wasn't something he ever wished for, but the ability to protect and shield the people; having the ability to mold and shape this disastrous Empire into something better. Peace was all he desired. And now, having spent so much time with his father, made him apologetic and fearful of what was to come to him when this was all over. That would be the only way he could be somewhat pardoned. "We're done talking about this," Luke said, turning back around to the computer.

But before he had time to see their readings, a sudden and powerful vibration shook the vessel. The Jedi flew out of his seat and smacked his head against the dashboard, as his father buckled back and hit the wall behind him. Luke barely had time to let out an exhale before the ship rocked again, whistles and alarms sounding all around them. He looked to the navicomputer in shock.

How he wished he had kept his attention on the navicomputer, as his father instructed. Three ships were coming out from behind and shooting at them, already heavily damaging the back plate of the vessel. He quickly flipped on the shields and turned to his father, pointing behind them both.

"There's a team of TIE fighters, right behind us!"

Darth Vader let out this sickly menacing groan that even made Luke cower. "You, pilot the ship. You'll be no use manning the weapons station with one hand. I will do what I can to destroy them all," turning out of the frame of the cockpit and exiting toward the gunner. He gulped as he strapped himself in and gripped at the controls, tightening themselves and closing in on the attackers to give his father room to strike.

The vessel twisted around, turning back as Luke saw cannons shoot out of the ship and firing at the Fighters that trailed them. He saw one of the ships explode into a burst of flames, glittering out and mending in with the stars that surrounded it. "Good shot, father," he complimented, tilting the ship vertically and swooping themselves underneath the fleet. The element of surprise was always a benefit and, one-handed or two-handed, Luke was a capable pilot when it came to battle.

One of the TIE Fighters flew up from below, following them and zooming past the cockpit window. Luke gasped as he saw blaster fire shoot out from the small ship, the shield barely containing the attack. He wasn't used to being on the defensive – usually in space combat, he was on the offensive, looking for openings and firing whenever he could. This was different; he felt like he was running. "I'll go ahead and try to give you another opening," Luke said, rotating the vessel and giving Vader ample opportunity to fire.

This one was close: the fighter broke off away from the other and attempted to make an offensive strike, pulling in close to the backside of the vessel. It slowed, and slowed, drifting toward them both until it came to a slow drift. Red lights surrounded the wings of the ship. "You're mine," Vader hissed through the comlink, cannons of fire shooting out from their ship and striking the fighter.

There was a second explosion – though this time, it was followed quickly by the rocking and groaning of their own ship. The ship managed to fire a torpedo before its destruction. Sparks and wires shot out of overhead panels, spraying over Luke's jacket, as lights flickered on and off within the cockpit. "We took some heavy damage, father. Whatever it was that last Fighter hit us with wasn't good. They took out what was left of our shields and got to some of our life support. If we are gonna get to this Kamino, we need to take this guy out and fast."

"This wouldn't have happened if you were monitoring the navicomputer like I ordered," Vader shouted through the headset.

"And I would have _been_ monitoring the navicomputer like you ordered if you wouldn't have kept prattling on about some Empire we might not even live to see," Luke shouted back, anger and frustration ringing out with his voice. Some Empire – they both might not even make it out of this mess alive. All because Vader had to keep distracting him. The rebel increased speed and flew straight down, spinning around in an attempt to get behind the fighter.

They were so close – Luke could see the outline of the wing of the TIE Fighter, the increased speed allowing them to catch up with the attacker. "Almost," he said through gritted teeth, watching the ship become more and more visible as he spun. It was so close to their vessel – it was now or never. Luke sensed fire shoot out of the cannon and cheered as he saw it blast through the left wing.

His excited eyes soon turned to one of horror, as he saw the ruined ship tumble their way, planning one last strike against them. "If you can do it, you need to fire on him, father! Now, quick, before –" Before Luke could even finish his sentence, his head smacked straight into the dashboard. There was a loud crack with an explosive fire and then… nothing. Everything became silent. There were flashing lights that surrounded him, slowly dimming.

The Jedi looked to his navicomputer and saw that life support was directly targeted; the entire back half of their vessel had been broken off. He slammed his hand against the control of the door to the outer compartments, locking it and suppressing it before the vacuum of space made it to the front of the ship. "Father," Luke yelled, shouting into the comlink. He could barely hear himself over the white noise that sifted through his ears. He shouted into the headset over and over, pleading to hear the voice of his father through the deafening silence.

"Luke."

Did he hear it?

"Luke!"

He jumped as the familiar hand of his father gripped his shoulder. Sound came back to him, defeaning silence replaced by a deafening outcry of noises. Whistles and alarms sounded off instantaneously, loud fires and rocky vibrations taking control of the ship. "Oh, father," Luke said, lightning nuzzling the hand with his cheek. "I was worried you didn't make it. We're gonna need to land this ship or we aren't going to make it."

"Land there, at that one," Vader commanded, pointing at the fading navicomputer. Right above them, in the window of the dashboard, they could see that same planet zooming ever so closely their way. The dull yet scorched yellow was ingrained in Luke's mind but he sensed that his father had no idea what planet they were about to embark on.

"We can – we must," Luke replied back, lowering the ship and preparing to enter the atmosphere of a planet that was soon closing in on them. He didn't think that he would be coming back to this world anytime soon, nor his father, but here they were, one hit away from an explosion and spiraling down into the hellish landscape below. They weren't going to make it to Kamino. "The sand should help us."

"Sand..?"

"That's right," Luke said, bracing himself as the yellow planet continued to grow in size until it took up all the space on their dashboard. Heat bled in from the atmosphere as rays of light pounded through the cockpit, cooking the sweat that drenched Luke's face and fair and frying it to his skin. "Brace yourself for Tatooine."


	15. Reconnect

There was nothing but desert this far out on Tatooine. Strong winds blended sand into the fine grooves of the homestead, darkening the already yellow huts into a beaten and hobbled brown. Three years had passed since anyone last lived in the settlement, the inside a mixture of forlorn loss and desecration. Ghosts rummaged through the halls of the underground pathways, blaster fire decorating along the outside and inside of the walls, the cries of a man and woman etched into the scorched earth.

This place once had a grand story to it; the birthplace of one of the greatest heroes the universe had ever seen and a graveyard to the family he had lost. There was enough death, in this small outpost in the vast expanses of desert, to ward off any stragglers. Destroyed and lost to the winds of sand, this place was meant to die alongside so many family members that once filled its halls.

To Luke Skywalker, this was once a place he called home.

Now, however, it was nothing more than a sentimental oasis on a planet that had grown foreign and alien to the youth. "We'll be safe here," Luke muttered to his father, pulling off his jacket and sliding underneath the decayed wire and circuitry built into the basement of his childhood past. "At least, no one will be looking for us, aside from any sandpeople and raiders. This place has been abandoned ever since the Imperials arrived three years ago and burned it to the ground."

It stung Luke to refer to his home in such an off-hand manner – after all, this is where his aunt and uncle raised him, where he spent the majority of his days, where he stayed up until midnight at sleepovers with Biggs all throughout his boyhood, where he had his first shave at sixteen, and, of course, where he saw his first glimpse of the face of death. "At least the wires here aren't totally fried," he muttered to himself, trying to think of something else instead of the last memory he had of his family. Luke wedged his right arm above and around one of the wires, tooling around and attempting to reconnect open sparks with his left. He hissed under his breath as his chest was sprayed with a shower of light, cursing gently as he shook them off. "Let's just hope I won't be the fried one instead."

There was no laughter from his father at the remark. Not that Luke had expected to get one from Darth Vader, who seemed more agonized and conflicted by their stay than the youth. It made sense, he supposed, that coming here would be difficult for him. Luke knew the stories – he knew about his mother, about his grandmother, the true past of Anakin Skywalker – but he assumed that the stories versus the living memory were somewhat different.

Shared trauma for this place existed between the both of them. This was where Anakin Skywalker had been created, where his mother had been abandoned, where he traded one set of chains for another – the boy understood that. But this place, this homestead, was where he grew up most of his life and where he watched the burning corpses of his aunt and uncle rot in the barren desert. Right outside.

"We just need to get some light," he mumbled. "I know that we have emergency power here, somewhere. These past few days have been hell but I just know that we will find what we need here; I have a child about it," he continued rambling off to himself, though his father remained distant and didn't respond to the youth.

He swore he was going to give up this place, this life, after he lost them that afternoon. Luke Skywalker, the boy farmer that the rest of his peers mocked as "Wormie," was never supposed to come back. He couldn't help but feel the emotional scars of that past as he worked inside his ancestral home. Uncle Owen was the first to explain to him how electronic circuitry worked. One of his favorite memories of his uncle was the first time he trusted Luke enough to work on one of the droids with him. There was so much pride in his eye.. and, from then on, he gave him the tools he needed to begin building and piecing things together. There were legends of the great Anakin even back then, of a great inventor and tinkerer; how Luke wanted to be the spitting image of that same man.

"I think we almost got it," Luke said, more to himself than his father. Tinkering and playing with machinery was what helped him pass the time when he wasn't doing chores or playing with friends or learning at the local school. He was an okay farmhand but an even better mechanic. Scrunching up his nose as he attempted to cross wires together one more time, he groaned as he twisted the wires and prayed that he wasn't about to die here and there.

Power surged through cables. There was a low rumble and hum underneath the two men, shaking and groaning as electricity began to soar throughout the Lars homestead. "Come on," Luke whispered, peeking out from underneath and hoping for a sign that the connection would work.

Dim lights flickered on and off above them, wavering back and forth for a solid minute, before finally settling and choosing to stay on. The youth slid himself out from under the electrical box. "I knew that emergency power had to have survived," he said with a giant beam of pride on his face. "Uncle Owen insisted that I got that installed back in the day when that big sandstorm almost ruined the farm."

Now that there was electricity flowing throughout the farm, they could move to their next act.

"Indeed," Vader said, speaking at last after an hour long silence. Luke smiled to his quiet father and huddled over to a nearby table, looking at a collection of scrap metal that formed into a primitive hand, curiously wondering over it as he tinkered around with the parts. The young Jedi had spent the past few days scouring through the area looking for pieces of scrap metal that could, theoretically, form a potential new hand in place of his stump.

It was something that they had both discussed from time to time. Previously, they had both agreed that the Jedi needed a replacement hand. Their upcoming stop was supposed to be where they had the surgery needed to replace the limb – but, circumstances changed that. They had to be desperate.

"I am displeased with this crude method, my son," Vader hissed, crossing his arms as he stared at his son. The two men had discussed the possibility of such a thing but his father was shocked when Luke came back to the homestead with a wagon full of machinery and metal. "You have given me the parts needed but there is no guarantee that such a method would work. It is purely hypothetical."

"Well, you said it yourself, I need a new hand," Luke said, waving his arm in front of them both.

"A new one, yes," Vader agreed before walking close to his son and marveling at the makeshift prosthesis he had come up with. "Though something this… primitive... is hardly worthy nor will provide you with the full potential you possess. I still hold still to my beliefs that we should wait until we get a vessel off this planet and back to civilization."

"But who knows how long that could be? Besides, how do we know we won't run in to someone or something and we could use another hand in battle? The longer I go without a hand, the more risk we take," Luke assured his father, crossing his arms as well. "Also, if we do it ourselves, it is less likely that someone will catch us. How are we supposed to explain how I am just missing a hand and how I somehow survived it without any surgical treatment? Trust me, father, I think we should do this."

"It will be painful."

"Not any more painful than when you took the liberty of cutting off my actual hand," the youth humorously expressed to his father. Vader was, again, not amused. "Look, I understand. We've talked about it before. You're gonna have to burn off the sealed part of my arm with your lightsaber and then quickly attach the prosthesis to it. It's gruesome. I'm going to scream and try not to cry my eyes out. Yes, I understand that there is a chance that my nerves will be too fried to connect in the future if this goes wrong. Yes, I understand that it could also put me into shock and at risk for infection."

"But we have to do this, father. Our ship is gone – that, for sure, isn't salvageable. We might be stuck here way longer than planned."

Cautious red fire emitted from Darth Vader's lightsaber. "I understand your concerns – and acknowledge that they have merit to them; I will do as you wish, my son, but you must know that you do not have my blessing for this procedure," he stated, brandishing his weapon and twirling it around with finesse.

Luke gulped as he stared into the emitted core of the blade. He knew that his father was also right – and he was not ready to feel the scorched pain of a lightsaber – but felt that this was either going to happen now or never. "Just think of it as something you owe to me," the Jedi said, looking from the blade to his right arm. "You cut off my hand without my permission before. This time, as punishment, you have to cut off just a little bit more so I can have a new one."

"Sit."

The Jedi Knight sat on a derelict chair in front of the tool wagon nearby and propped his right arm onto the extended window. He looked to his father, to the lightsaber, and then at his arm. With his left hand, he gripped the remaining forearm of his right and dragged the edge of it to a mere inch off the stand. "We can do this, father," he said to Vader, anxiety coming with sweat as his the red lightsaber flickered in his eyes. "I have faith. You just have to – hurt me.. a little bit."

Luke marveled at the reluctance his father showed. So much had happened between the two men since they first held a lightsaber to one another, with the intent to maim or kill. The boy had gained a father, and the father a son, and now, gone was that ruthless and domineering power that Darth Vader had shown to him in the chambers of Cloud City. This wasn't about damaging a "prize" or a "weapon" – Vader saw this boy as his child, his son, his Luke.

Hurting him like this must have hurt more than he was verbally able to communicate.

"Father."

"Are you ready? Hold onto your arm as tightly as possible and I will make this as clean and precise as I can."

"I am ready for it," Luke stated, turning his head the other way so he couldn't see the blade approach his skin. The Jedi knew what that type of pain felt like – it was both the worst type of pain imaginable but yet incredibly instant. This was worth it – to have a right hand again, to be able to help protect himself and his father, to keep his friends safe. The galaxy depended on him and he couldn't let them down.

There was a quick flourish by Vader's lightsaber – the weapon had deactivated before the pain registered.

Luke screamed as the lightsaber swiped through the shallow stump at the end of his right arm. The slice had been so thin and near the edge that no left-over tissue remained, leaving nothing an enflamed and freshly cut stump for the two to fix. Tears blinded his vision as he raised his arm into the air, biting down on his tongue as he held up the mutilated arm for them both to stare at, his left hand still tightly gripped around it. The all-too-familiar stench of his cooked flesh combined with the stabbing pain in his gut made him want to vomit.

"Start," he hissed through his teeth, shaking against his will as sweat and tears dribbled down his cheeks. Luke yelled as the cauterized flesh was pulled off from his arm, revealing the violently red blood that began to stain his skin and exposing half-destroyed nerves and veins. The Jedi was determined to make this work. Pain was something he had to endure, an obstacle he must overcome, if he was going to be strong enough to protect the people he loved.

The first connection was the easiest – he knew this going into the makeshift surgery that connecting the severed end of the bone to the mechanical prosthesis was to be painless, overall. He watched with wondrous eyes as the piece of machinery clamped around the bone, exhaling in relief in knowing that the maiming hadn't been for nothing. Vader knelt down and reached for a rag on the ground, lightly dressing the blood that ran down his arm, leaving the rest of his remaining forearm a delicate pink.

"We can continue," Luke said with a labored breath, nodding to his hesitant father that he had his blessing, closing his eyes and groaning as he prepared for the next connection. The Jedi knew that this next one was going to hurt and he was concentrating as best he could to not feint at the pain. "Go ahead," he nodded once more, the grip of his left hand against his arm tightening as firm as possible. The Jedi cried out once more as damaged and broken nerves and muscles attached to multiple metallic wires, sending shockwaves up and down throughout the young man's body.

He felt his arm throbbing and shaking violently under the weight of his grip – unable to open his eyes and biting down hard against his tongue in an attempt to block out the pain, agony wrestling underneath his skin as he veins were electrocuted back to life through the prosthesis. This was a far worse feeling than the first time he lost his hand; it very much felt like a sickening and grotesque form of bringing the dead back to life. This part of his body had been rotting for months; yet, now, two foolish men attempted to do the impossible with scrap parts and rusted equipment.

"Please," Luke buckled, collapsing to his knees as he propped his arm up. He could finally muster the energy to open his eyes and stare at the appendage. Blood trickled out of the stump slowly but there was little pain left from the lightsaber itself; he groaned as he reached out with his wounded arm and felt revived nerves and veins fishing around for a lost hand. Luke heaved as he imaged closing his imaginary hand into a fist, staring into the mechanical hand that outstretched above, not fully attached yet. He knew that this was where he would find out if their surgery had been a success or not, whether or not the nerves had enough tissue left to claim the cybernetic.

"I need you," he whispered, so low that even his father couldn't hear him.

"Please," Luke pleaded one last time, outstretching his arm and letting go with his left hand. His father let go of the mechanical limb and watched carefully as Luke attempted to reconnect himself. The young Jedi closed his eyes and exhaled, letting go before preparing for one last shot. His stump of an arm was raised even higher, the weight of the cybernetic practically crushing him, reaching out through his nerves for something – anything. He strained. Nothing – try again?

All of his energy went into this last strain, pushing out to the realm of Force energy that went past his physical realm. After all, that might help rekindle the life necessary. Focus, refresh, refuel. He had to think of both himself and everything aside from himself. He had to think of Han, of Leia, to his deceased aunt and uncle, to Yoda, to Obi-Wan, to his father: reconnect.

Nothing.

"Reconnect," he demanded.

And then – the sound of metal slapping against metal filled the silence of the Tatooine lair.

Luke opened his eyes in wondrous shock as he saw the prosthetic forearm, barely connected to his own save for the main chamber and wires, clasp itself into a fist. The youth cheered as he watched and felt his remaining tissue come to life, fingers circulating and scraping scraps of metal onto another. "We did it, father," he declared, wiggling the seemingly levitating hand around before sitting back into place for the final connection.

This connection was almost completely guaranteed to knock Luke out. Here, the tube would lower the hand into the actual tissue, irreversibly causing synthetic and organic compounds to merge as one. The last connection was the hardest, but this? There wasn't a worry left in his head. A quick sharp pain would stab into his entire being and then he would drift, far away into the dreams of a boy that still resided within the man that called himself Luke.

He laid down and looked up at his father, Darth Vader, and smiled. It was only a matter of seconds before he would lost consciousness and then be back among the living, with a new hand to aid them both. Vader raised his hand and brought his finger upon the button of the cybernetic, the slow hum of the hand lowering filling the silence between them both. "We did it," Luke repeated, closing his eyes as his head jerked back, and his body convulsed, saying one last: "father."


End file.
